
Class TZ 7 

Book i ffl 63 S# 

Copyright N°. . 


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“The Count then opened the door and overcome with emo- 
tion he fell at the feet of the Countess.” 

— From “ Royal Palace to Lowly Hut ” ( page 228) 




SUNSHINE AND SHADOW SERIES 

AFTER LONG YEARS 

AND 

OTHER STORIES 


TRANSLATIONS 
FROM THE GERMAN BY 

SOPHIE A. MILLER 

w 

AND 

AGNES M. DUNNE 

Principal Public School 165, 
New York City 



NEW YORK 

THE A. S. BARNES COMPANY 
1912 





Copyright, 1912, 

By The A. S. Barnes Company 


* <> 


NOTE 

These ethical stories have been translated from the 
German with the view of instilling into the minds of 
youthful readers such truths as will help materially 
toward building a character that will withstand the 
trials and temptations of life. 

It is conceded by educators that ethics presented 
in the lecture form fails of its purpose ; therefore the 
writers have presented this subject in the form most 
appealing to children — the story. 

£ CI.A319758 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

I. After Long Years 1 

Chapter 

I. The Journey 3 

II. Apprenticeship 8 

III. Alfred Banford 14 

IV. The Stranger 19 

II. The Captive 25 

Chapter 

I. Home-Coming 27 

II. The Slave 30 

III. In the Turkish Family 35 

IV. The Lion 38 

V. The Offer 41 

VI. The Plans 44 

VII. Restored to Freedom 48 

III. The Artist’s Masterpiece 51 

Chapter 

I. The Gift 53 

II. Under the Emperor’s Bush 58 

III. No Prophet in His Own Country .. . 65 

IV. The Condition 74 

V. The Fulfilment 78 

IV. The Vineyard on the Hillside 83 

Chapter 

I. Missing 85 

II. The Faithful Dog 92 

III. The Fond Foster-Parents 96 

IV. The Errand 99 

V. The Old Man 103 

VI. The Legacy 108 

VII. The Journey Ill 


CONTENTS 


vi 


PAGE 

Y. The Damaged Picture 115 

Chapter 

I. The Artist 117 

II. The Picture 121 

III. The Discovery 126 

YI. Memories Awakened . 133 

Chapter 

I. The Change of Circumstances . . . 135 

II. The Revelation 143 

VII. The Inheritance 149 

Chapter 

I. Mr. Acton and his Son 151 

II. The Uninvited Guest 159 

III. The Flowering Plant 165 

IV. The Two Families 168 

V. The Feast 171 

VIII. How It Happened 177 

Chapter 

I. The Wooded Island 179 

II. Far From Home 186 

III. The Smoke 194 

IX. From Royal Palace to Lowly Hut 203 

Chapter 

I. The Suburbs 205 

II. The Retreat 209 

III. The Prison 215 

IV. The Purchase 221 

V. Reunited 225 

X. The Ugly Trinket 231 

Chapter 

I. The Opened Door 233 

II. The Test 238 

III. Reverses 242 


AFTER LONG YEARS 


CHAPTERS. 

I. The Journey. 

II. Apprenticeship. 

III. Alfred Banford. 


IV. The Stranger. 



“He halted, offered his assistance to the two half-frozen 
men, helped them into the sleigh and hur- 
ried on with them.” 


AFTER LONG YEARS 

CHAPTER I 

THE JOURNEY 

The Duchess of Banford and her two children 
were driving toward their villa, when, owing to 
the roughness of the road, the front wheel of their 
coach was suddenly broken. Considerably fright- 
ened, mother and children quickly alighted. The 
approaching darkness, coupled with the loneliness 
of the place, added to the difficulty ; for the pros- 
pect of spending the night in the woods was par- 
ticularly distressing. 

Just then a stable-boy chanced along and seeing 
the predicament, said: “Oh, that wheel can be 
easily mended. Not far from here there lives a 
wheelwright, and I am sure he can repair it in a 
very short time.” The boy then looked about 
him, and seeing a long pole, said: “We can use 
this to support the wagon as it drags along. The 
road is rugged, and it will take us about an hour 
to get there .’ 9 

“Is there no shorter route?” inquired the 
Duchess. 

i ‘ This is the only wagon road ; but if you wish, 
I will lead you along a shorter path across the 
fields which will cut the distance in half . 9 9 

3 


4 


AFTER LONG YEARS 


The Duchess thanked him, and asked: 4 4 Do you 
think that we may take this pole ? It seems 
to me as though some wood-cutter had left it here 
to prop a tree.” 

“Oh, yes,” he answered, “it belongs to the 
wheelwright to whom I am taking you. All the 
wood around here belongs to him, and he will be 
glad to have this pole so handy.” So saying, he 
hurried to get the pole and helped the coachman 
fasten it in place. The horses then drew the car- 
riage slowly over the rocky road, while the coach- 
man walked alongside. 

The family, however, followed the footpath, 
which led between tall elms and blooming shrub- 
bery along the edge of a babbling brook. 

The silence was broken now and then by the 
plaintive song of a nightingale. The Duchess and 
her two children seated themselves upon the 
trunk of a fallen tree and listened to the music 
till it ceased. A gentle wind sighed softly through 
the leaves of the trees, and merrily flowed the 
near-by brook. As the nightingale repeated its 
song, they all listened intently. 

When the song was ended, the Duchess said: 
‘ ‘ I would give twenty pounds if I had such a bird 
in my garden. I have heard many nightingales 
sing in the city, but here in the country, in this 
wooded region and deep stillness, and at this twi- 
light hour, its song seems doubly enchanting. Oh, 


THE JOURNEY 


5 


that I might hear it sing in the little bower near 
my villa. ’ 9 

“Hm,” whispered the stable-boy, who stood 
near her oldest son, Alfred, “ those twenty pounds 
could be easily earned.’ ’ 

Alfred nodded, and motioned to the boy to be 
still, for just then the nightingale began to sing. 
When the song ceased the Duchess arose to con- 
tinue her way. Alfred, however, lagged behind 
with the stable-boy, with whom he was soon busily 
engaged in earnest talk. 

“A nightingale in a cage is not what my mother 
wants; what she wants is a nightingale that is 
at liberty, to sing and nest and fly as it pleases in 
our beautiful garden, and to return to us in the 
spring from its winter home. 

“I understand very well what you mean. I 
should not want to catch a bird and deliver it into 
captivity.” After questioning Alfred more 
closely about the trees near his villa, the boy said : 
“I feel sure that I can get a nightingale and its 
nest for you. I know just how to go about it. 
You will soon hear its song resound from all parts 
of your garden — possibly not this week, but surely 
next. 

Alfred stood still for a moment and looked at 
the boy — clothed in a shabby suit, with his hair 
protruding from his torn hat. Then he asked, 
wonderingly, ‘ 4 What would you do with the 
money?” 


6 


AFTER LONG YEARS 


“Oh,” said the boy, and the tears stood in his 
eyes, “twenty pounds would help us out of our 
troubles. You see my father is a day-laborer. 
He is not a very strong man, and I was just on 
my way to visit him, and do what I could to help 
him. My foreman has given me a few days ’ leave 
of absence. I don’t earn much, but it helps my 
father a little. I often feel that it would be a 
great help to him if I could earn more. I cer- 
tainly should like nothing better than to be a 
wheelwright. It must be grand to be able to take 
the wood that lies here in the forest, and make 
a beautiful carriage out of it, like the one you own. 
I have often talked with the wheelwright, but he 
will not take me as an apprentice until I have a 
certain amount of money. Besides, I should need 
money to buy tools. It would cost twenty pounds, 
and my father and I haven’t as much as that to- 
gether. ’ ’ 

“Poor boy,” thought Alfred, “if what he says 
is true, we must help him.” Then he said aloud, 
“Bring me a written recommendation from your 
school-master ; and if the wheelwright really 
wants to take you, I will give you ten pounds as 
soon as the nightingale sings in our garden ; and I 
know that the missing ten pounds will soon be 
forthcoming. But you must say nothing about 
this to anyone until my mother ’s wish is gratified. 
I should like to give her an unexpected pleasure.” 


THE JOURNEY 


7 


Soon they struck the main road again, and the 
rest of the distance was quickly covered. 

While the wheelwright was repairing the car- 
riage, Alfred engaged him in conversation con- 
cerning the stable-boy, all of whose statements 
the man corroborated. He also showed a willing- 
ness to apprentice the boy on the terms stated. 

The damage had now been repaired, so the 
Duchess paid the charges, giving the stable-boy 
a few coins, and seated herself in the carriage 
with her children. 

After whispering a few words to the boy, to 
tell him how to reach the villa, Alfred joined his 
mother and sister, and with tooting of horns they 
proceeded on their journey in high spirits. 


CHAPTER II 

APPRENTICESHIP 

The little stable-boy, Michael Warden, hurried 
on to his sick father. It was late, and the journey 
would take him two hours. On his way he stopped 
to buy a few delicacies for his father with the 
coins the Duchess had given him. To his surprise, 
he found on arrival that his father was very much 
improved. 

Before daybreak on the following morning, 
Michael hurried to the woods to find the night- 
ingale’s nest he knew so well. When he had last 
visited it, he had seen five brownish-green eggs 
there. But as he now peered into it he found, to 
his great astonishment, that the young birds had 
broken through their shells. With all haste he 
set out for the villa, several miles distant, to study 
the situation and decide where he could best 
fasten the nest. Arriving there, he found a suit- 
able place, and then hurried back to the woods. 

In the course of a few days, he succeeded in 
caging the parent birds. Placing the nest beside 
them in the cage, he carried it to the garden of 
the Duchess. He arrived there toward evening, 
and was hospitably received by the gardener, who 
had been fully acquainted with the idea. 

8 


APPRENTICESHIP 


9 


Adjoining the villa was a large tract of land, 
well wooded, which was beautifully laid out with 
garden plots, pebbly, shaded paths, vine-covered 
bowers and rustic seats. In one corner of the 
garden there stood an odd little thatch-covered 
arbor, nestling between high rocks in the shadow 
of the tall trees. A brook which fell in foaming 
whiteness flowed past this little nook, clear as 
crystal, and made the stillness fascinating by its 
intermittent murmuring. This spot the Duchess 
loved well, and many hours of the day she spent 
here. 

Scarcely a hundred feet distant, there stood a 
willow tree closely resembling the late home of 
the caged nightingales. The boy had chosen this 
tree and had prepared a place for the nest on a 
forked branch. He went there late one evening, 
as the moon was shining brightly, and placed the 
nest securely on this tree ; then he gave the parent 
birds their freedom. 

The next morning, the boy returned to the spot 
and hid himself in the thick shrubbery, to see 
whether the birds would feed their young, who 
were loudly crying for food. In a little while the 
parent birds returned and fed them. 

“Now I have triumphed/ * said Michael; and 
he hurried to the villa to carry to Alfred the wel- 
come news that in a few days the nightingales 
would be singing their song in his garden. 


10 


AFTER LONG YEARS 


“Fine,” said Alfred, “and then the money will 
be yonrs. Stay a few days longer and you can 
take it with you. ’ * 

Two days later, the Duchess invited her friends 
to a lawn-party. The sun had risen in all its 
glory, the sky was unclouded, and the breezes 
were light and refreshing. The garden, with all 
its natural beauty, afforded a most entrancing 
spot for the feast, which proved perfect in every 
detail and was enjoyed in full measure. 

After the guests had departed, the Duchess 
said to her children, ‘ ‘ Let us spend this delightful 
twilight hour here in quiet. My soul is satisfied ; 
for what can compare with this blessed evening 
hour? What comparison can there be between 
the grandeur of our salon and the beauty of 
nature ? ’ ’ 

Just then the nightingale broke the stillness 
with its ecstatic song. The Duchess was sur- 
prised, and listened intently until the song was 
ended. 

“I wonder how this nightingale came to my 
garden. The oldest residents cannot remember 
ever having heard one in this region. ’ ’ 

“Dear mother,” said Alfred, “you often wished 
that a nightingale would lend its song and its 
presence to grace this beautiful spot. The same 
boy who assisted us out of a difficulty recently, 
helped me gratify your wish. You remember, 


APPRENTICESHIP 


11 


dear mother, that you said at that time : 4 1 would 
give twenty pounds to have a nightingale in my 
garden. ’ That boy has helped us please you, and 
we have paid him half this amount out of our 
savings. The boy is worthy of the money, and it 
may be the foundation of his future success.’ ’ 

1 ‘ You have acted nobly, ’ ’ said the Duchess. 6 ‘ 1 
am transported with ecstasy at hearing the night- 
ingale sing for the first time in my garden, and 
also at the love which you have shown for your 
mother. It moves me still more, however, when 
I think that my children possess a heart big 
enough to part with money intended for their 
own use, and voluntarily give it up to afford help 
and joy to others. I, too, will reward the boy 
generously. I wonder what use he would make of 
the money.” 

“We could not give the money to a more 
worthy person , 9 9 said Alfred, who then related to 
his mother the boy’s aspirations. “Besides, I 
have written to his teacher, and this is what he 
says about him: ‘A greater deed of charity you 
could not perform than to help Michael Warden 
carry out his desire to learn a trade. He is a 
clever, ingenious boy, and would learn quickly. 
I think he would like best to be a wheelwright, 
and I would suggest that you apprentice him with 
the master in our village.’ So you see, mother, 
the money would not be spent in vain. ’ ’ 


12 


AFTER LONG YEARS 


“Very well, the money shall be his.” 

On the following morning, Alfred sent for 
Michael, and counted out to him the money, in- 
creasing it to fifty pounds. Michael’s astonish- 
ment almost carried him off his feet, and he 
thanked Alfred profusely for the extra money. 
He hurried home to his father and laid his wealth 
before him on the table. The old man stared at 
it in blank amazement, and said : 4 4 My boy, I hope 
you have not stolen this money ! ’ ’ 

“No, father, but a little bird in the forest 
helped me,” and Michael related the incident. 

His father, overjoyed, now made all prepara- 
tions for Michael’s outfit. He then conducted him 
to the master wheelwright, paid the stipulated 
sum and entered him as an apprentice. At the 
end of three years, the boy was as accomplished 
in his trade as his master. 

Before starting out into the world, Michael re- 
turned to the Castle of Banford to tell of his 
progress, and once more thank the Duchess and 
her children for their kindness to him. They 
praised him heartily for the strides he had made. 
The Duchess then gave him another gift of money 
for his journey, and said: “Success be yours. 
We must never do good by halves; the sapling 
that we plant we should also water. ’ ’ Then with 
many encouraging remarks, the Banfords bade 
him good-bye. 


APPRENTICESHIP 


13 


Touched by their interest and charity, Michael 
was so stupefied that he could scarcely speak. 
When he recovered his self-control, he thanked 
them all, and promised faithfully to do his best 
^nd always remember their good advice. 


CHAPTER III 

ALFRED BANFORD 

Alfred Banford had always been kind to the 
poor and dutiful and affectionate to his mother. 
Suddenly he was seized with patriotic fervor. For 
some time he had nursed the desire to be a soldier. 
At the age of seventeen, he studied the art of 
warfare at a military academy. He surprised all 
the officers with his military genius. 

The Duchess, too, loved her fatherland, and at 
last she tearfully recognized that she must give 
up her son to fight in defense of his country. 

“Go, then,” said she, “fight for the right and 
your country ; and may God protect you. ’ 1 

Alfred fought valiantly and well, and at last 
was forced to proceed with the great French army 
against Russia. On the way to Moscow their 
ranks were greatly depleted, owing to the long, 
wearisome marches and privations. After untold 
hardships and bloodshed, the army at last reached 
Moscow, with her many palaces and temples and 
spires and the old palace, the Kremlin. It was a 
pleasing picture. Alfred, like every other soldier, 
now hoped to recuperate from the hardships of 
warfare. But he found the city uninhabited, the 
streets deserted, the palaces and houses empty. 

14 


ALFRED BANFORD 


15 


At midnight, a dreadful fire which had been 
smoldering for several days, broke out in wild 
fury and laid the greater part of the city in ashes. 
The army was obliged to retreat; and many 
thousand brave soldiers, exposed to snow and ice, 
hunger and cold, met a horrible death. One single 
freezing night killed thousands of horses, Alfred’s 
among them. He was obliged to walk knee deep 
in icy water. 

They traversed miles and miles of country 
without passing one hut; and when in the dis- 
tance a human habitation appeared and gave 
promise of warmth and food, they found upon 
approach that it was deserted and devoid of 
everything. 

The poor, miserable, weakened soldiers were 
obliged to spend many a weary night on the snow- 
covered ground, with no roof but the sky. The 
need of food became more and more imperative 
each moment; yet if they had had the wealth of 
kings, they could not have bought a dry crust of 
bread; so they were reduced to the extremity of 
eating the flesh of their fallen horses. They 
quenched their thirst with snow. 

The street upon which the greater part of the 
army had gathered was marked with deserted 
cannons and powder wagons; and on both sides 
lay the dead, upon whom the fast falling snow 
had spread a white coverlet. Many of the soldiers 


16 


AFTER LONG YEARS 


of Alfred’s regiment had fallen, and lay frozen in 
the snow; others were scattered here and there. 

Alfred and a chum, both in a weakened condi- 
tion, tried to go on. They descried a little village, 
about half an hour distant ; but before they 
reached it, Alfred had become so weak that he 
fell exhausted in the snow, saying: “Thus must 
I die here!” He extended his hand to his friend 
and with tears in his eyes said : ‘ 4 Should you ever 
reach the Castle of Banford, bear my love to my 
mother and sisters. Tell them that Alfred Ban- 
ford fought bravely, and fell in the service of his 
country. 

These words reached the ears of a Russian 
gentleman, Yosky by name, who in a rude sled 
was going in the direction of the village. He 
halted, offered his assistance to the two half- 
frozen men, helped them into the sleigh and hur- 
ried on with them. A few minutes 9 drive brought 
them to a little inn, half concealed by the drifted 
snow. 

The men were conducted into the house and 
furnished with food and warmth. The host 
asked them no questions, for he saw that they 
were benumbed and almost unconscious. At last, 
when they had recovered, he raised his glass and 
said: “To your health, gentlemen. All brave sol- 
diers should live. I sympathize with you, al- 
though I am a Russian subject. The sad fate of 
your fellow soldiers pains me. I will do all in my 


ALFRED BANFORD 


17 


power to help you. I know you are not our enemy. 
We have but one enemy — the man whose iron will 
has forced all these hundreds of thousands of 
men into our country. ’ ’ Then he arose and went 
about the place, giving orders to his assistant. 

The sleigh still stood at the door, and the 
horses impatiently shook the sleigh bells and 
pawed the snow. As Vosky reentered the room, 
his two guests had finished their repast. 

“Now,” said he, “let me conduct you to a room 
where you can rest and sleep, undisturbed and 
undiscovered. ’ 7 After climbing a ladder and 
walking through a narrow passage, they came to 
a secret door which opened into a bedroom. Al- 
fred Banford looked about him, and was startled 
when he saw in a mirror the reflection of such a 
pale, hungry-looking visage and such tattered 
clothes. 

Pity was plainly written in Vosky ’s kind face, 
hut all he said was : ‘ ‘ Stay here and recuperate. 
To my sorrow, I must leave you for a little while 
in order to transact some urgent business; but 
I will instruct my valet to provide you with every 
possible comfort. Everything in this house 
stands at your service.” 

Alfred Banford ventured to ask whether it 
would be perfectly safe to remain, for he feared 
that Russian soldiers might capture him and that 
he would be sent to Siberia. 

“I give you my word,” said Vosky. “You will 


18 


AFTER LONG YEARS 


be as safe here as the Czar is in his Castle. Give 
me your word of honor to remain until my return. 
I will then devise means to help you reach your 
country. But I must be off now. Take good care 
of yourselves. ’ 9 And hurriedly he closed the door 
behind him. 

Alfred Banford marveled at the friendliness 
and goodness of this strange man who had come 
to his rescue so unexpectedly and so opportunely, 
like an angel from heaven. “It seems like awak- 
ening from a dream, to find myself transported 
from an icy field to a warm, cozy room , 9 9 said he. 
“It borders on the miraculous — I cannot fathom 
it.” But sleep was fast overpowering him. He 
had lain for so long on straw, on icy ground, and 
even in the snow, that it seemed as if he had 
never felt anything softer or warmer than this 
bed. He soon fell asleep and rested quietly and 
peacefully till the dawn. 


CHAPTEE IV 


THE STRANGER 

On the following morning, at breakfast, Alfred 
Banford turned to the kind-hearted Eussian serv- 
ant, and said : ‘ 1 Do tell me what sort of man your 
master is, and what is his name f ’ ’ 

“He is a very good man,” said the servant. 
“I can think of no one who is kindlier. His name 
is Vosky, the Czar’s chief financial adviser, and 
he is particularly concerned with the care of the 
Eussian army. He has always shown me great 
consideration, for I was only a poor beggar boy. 

“One day one of Mr. Vosky ’s assistants lost a 
package containing some valuable papers and a 
large sum of money. It was extensively adver- 
tised. I fortunately found the package and 
brought it to Mr. Vosky, who was so pleased with 
my honesty that he offered me a home, had me 
trained for a commercial life, and now takes me 
with him on his journeys, partly as secretary and 
partly as valet. 

“His home is in St. Petersburg. This house 
is only used as a stopping place when his business 
carries him to this region, which happens quite 
frequently. Before leaving yesterday, he gave me 
strict orders to look after your welfare. I trust 
19 


20 


AFTER LONG YEARS 


you will be pleased with my efforts, and give Mr. 
Vosky a good report when he returns.” 

By slow degrees Alfred Banford recovered his 
strength. He found books with which to while 
away the time. The stillness of this secluded spot 
was a gratifying change from the noisy battlefield. 

One night, Mr. Yosky returned. As he entered 
the house, his face shone with enthusiasm and gay 
spirits. “I come,” said he, turning to Alfred, 
“to give you liberty after your long confinement. 
I stand at your service, and wish to do everything 
in my power to see you safely restored to your 
own country. I would suggest that you go with me 
to St. Petersburg; from there you can easily re- 
turn to your own home by water. I should like to 
introduce you to my wife and children. Besides, 
I could not let you depart without suitable cloth- 
ing, and I cannot provide you with that here.” 

“My good man,” said Alfred, “your extraordi- 
nary kindness to me exceeds all measure. I can- 
not understand how I should merit such consider- 
ation from you.” 

“But,” said Mr. Yosky, almost choked with 
emotion, “I find nothing extraordinary or bounti- 
ful in my acts. It is my duty, an act of gratitude. ’ * 

“I fail to understand you,” said Alfred. “I 
cannot remember the slightest favor that I have 
ever proffered you. I never saw you before, and 
what is more, I never heard of you in my life.” 

“Never!” cried Mr. Yosky. “Then listen to 


THE STRANGER 


21 


wliat I have to say. My entire fortune I owe to 
you. All my success I lay at your door.” 

Alfred looked at him in astonishment and shook 
his head. 

‘ ‘ Did you never help a poor boy, by giving him 
fifty pounds ? ’ ’ 

“ Just now I don’t remember ever having done 
any poor boy such a charity.” 

“Now,” said Vosky, “perhaps you may remem- 
ber a nightingale that you wished to have brought 
to your mother’s garden. You will recall that 
poor stable-boy who managed it for you.” 

“Oh, yes,” said Alfred, “I remember the boy 
very well. He was a poor, worthy, ambitious lad, 
named Michael Warden. The last I heard of him 
was when he went out into the world as a wheel- 
wright, to make his fortune.” 

“So, you do remember him. Well, that boy 
Michael was none other than myself. Now I am 
the owner of a large factory, besides being finan- 
cial adviser to the Czar. I had my name legally 
changed to Vosky. I was that stable-boy, that 
wheelwright. ’ ’ 

“You!” cried Alfred, filled with admiration 
and astonishment. He sprang forward and em- 
braced his benefactor. “But why didn’t you tell 
me all this at first?” 

‘ 4 That was impossible, ’ ’ said V osky . 1 1 It would 
have taken too long to explain; and my business 
affairs were so pressing, and you were so ex- 


22 


AFTER LONG YEARS 


hausted, that you could not have listened to a 
detailed account. I deferred it for a more quiet, 
restful time, when I could express to you my 
thanks. I saw that you did not recognize me, and 
I, too, would never have recognized you had you 
not said that day as you sank in the snow, ‘ Give 
my love to my mother and sisters and say that 
Alfred Banford fell in the service of his country/ 
Let us be thankful that we have been brought 
together, and that the opportunity has been af- 
forded me to show you that I am not ungrateful. 
I cannot express to you the joy it gives me to see 
you, and to be able to serve you. ’ ’ 

Mr. Vosky then related some of the events of 
his life. How he had visited the principal cities 
of Europe ; and how he had studied under the best 
men, in order to make himself proficient in his 
line of work. Having heard that many Londoners 
were competing for the construction of carriages 
for Russia, he had hastily sent in his estimate. 
The work was accorded to him, and in a few years 
time he had amassed a large fortune. He had 
also opened a large wagon factory, and as soon 
as the war broke out with France, he had received 
orders from the Czar to supply the Russian army 
with additional powder wagons. The government 
had been as pleased with his promptness as with 
his honesty. Later, he had received the title of 
“Imperial Financial Adviser / 9 
Alfred listened earnestly, and said: “God 


THE STRANGER 


23 


blessed you with excellent talents. Even as a 
child you showed genius. You certainly made 
good use of your gifts. I see from all that you 
have told me, that you were always ready to em- 
brace an opportunity; that you worked with dili- 
gence, honesty and system, and that you began 
and ended all your work with an honest purpose. 
God, upon whom you relied, has blessed all your 
undertakings.” 

“That is true,” said Mr. Yosky. “The for- 
tune which I have accumulated gives me pleasure ; 
for with it I can help the needy. Many a poor 
lad, like myself, have I (in memory of my own 
childhood) taken by the hand and helped to be- 
come a man of standing in the world.” 

Mr. Yosky became silent, and after a long 
pause said, “I sorely regret that my poor father 
did not live, to see how valuable was the good 
training which he gave me, and that I was not 
permitted to make some return to him for his love 
and devotion.” 

On the following day, Mr. Yosky and his guests 
started on their journey to St. Petersburg. The 
route lay along a beautiful section of the country ; 
and so, with entertaining conversation, they 
reached their destination before they had ex- 
pected. 

Mr. Yosky ’s home was a beautiful place. His 
family came forward with warm greetings, and 
were introduced to Alfred Banford. The chil- 


24 


AFTER LONG YEARS 


dren could hardly understand how any man who 
looked so shabby and worn could ever have been 
their father’s benefactor. The father, however, 
explained to them that the trials and tribulations 
of warfare, through which Alfred had passed, ac- 
counted for his appearance ; and they were moved 
to sympathy for his sufferings. 

Mr. Vosky had his tailor furnish Alfred with a 
complete outfit, suitable to his station. 

Alfred remained with the Vosky family until 
the following spring, when they escorted him to 
the steamer. Mr. Vosky gave him a large roll of 
bills, for which Alfred thanked him, and said: “I 
will send you a check for this amount as soon as 
I reach home.” 

“Oh, no,” said Mr. Vosky; “rather give the 
money to some poor boy. What we give to the 
poor always returns to us.” 

With many adieus and handshakes, Alfred de- 
parted; and the Vosky family continued waving 
their handkerchiefs until the steamer was lost to 


view. 


THE CAPTIVE 


CHAPTERS. 

I. Home-Coming. 

II. The Slave. 

III. In The Turkish Family. 

IV. The Lion. 

V. The Offer. 

VI. The Plans. 

VII. Restored to Freedom. 



The Master of the House. 


























THE CAPTIVE 

CHAPTER I 

HOME-COMING 

Early one morning, Antonio, a noble youth of 
sixteen, was wandering by the seashore. He had 
just come from a high school in Salerno, Italy, 
and wished to spend the Easter holidays at his 
father’s ancestral home. The earth looked gay 
in all the beauty of spring, and the sea shone in 
the rosy light of the morning sun. Antonio’s 
heart glowed with adoration as he gazed upon the 
scene, and he thanked the Creator of all these 
wonders. With hurried steps he continued his 
way, thinking of his home and the reception 
awaiting him. 

His parents were of noble birth. They had lost 
considerable property and money; but they de- 
sired to give their son every advantage and — 
what was worth more than money — an excellent 
education. From his earliest childhood, they had 
taught him to reverence God and respect the laws. 
All his talents were being carefully developed. 
At a great personal sacrifice, they had sent him 
to the high school. Here Antonio denied himself 
many pleasures in which his richer classmates in- 
27 


28 


THE CAPTIVE 


dulged, and tried in every way to live econom- 
ically. He made no secret of his lack of money, 
nor did he envy those who possessed more than 
he did. So on this particular morning we find 
Antonio saving traveling expenses by making the 
journey to his home on foot. 

The path led through some tall bushes and 
curved around a huge rock. Here he suddenly 
espied a queer looking vessel lying at anchor. 
Several men with swarthy faces, clothed in a 
strange, odd fashion, were drawing water from 
a spring which gushed from the rock. They were 
pirates from Algiers. As soon as they caught 
sight of the boy, they sprang upon him, like tigers 
upon a harmless lamb, seized him, dragged him 
to the ship, robbed him of his beautiful clothing, 
dressed him like a slave, bound him hand and foot 
and placed him beside some other captives, who 
greeted Antonio with loud cries. 

When Antonio had recovered from the first 
great shock, he folded his chained hands, and 
turning his eyes towards the heavens, he cried 
aloud to God for strength to bear this great trial, 
and for safe deliverance from the hands of his 
enemies. 

The other prisoners, mostly Italians, had un- 
derstood his prayers and were deeply touched by 
his great faith. They soon became confidential, 
and little by little they unfolded to one another 
the story of their lives. One prisoner, well versed 


HOME-COMING 


29 


in law, who knew Antonio’s father, showed the 
boy much sympathy. Another prisoner, a sailor, 
grieved over the old parents whose mainstay he 
had been for many years. 1 1 Oh , 9 9 sighed he , i ‘ now 
hunger and want will overtake them.” Another, 
a fisherman, somewhat older than the rest, was 
the saddest of them all. He sat apart at one 
end of the ship, holding his head in his hand and 
weeping silently. He was the father of five chil- 
dren. He grieved sorely when he thought what 
his absence would mean to them. Antonio tried 
to comfort the old man with the assurance that 
some rescuer would be sent to save them. 

All the prisoners listened to Antonio. His ap- 
pearance, his friendliness, his cheerfulness, his 
faith, his trust brightened them all and gave them 
renewed hope. Then the fisherman stood up and 
said: “This boy has been sent to cheer us. Let 
us trust as he does, and some day, perhaps, our 
chains may be removed . 9 9 Then he began to sing 
and all the prisoners joined in the song. 


CHAPTER II 

THE SLAVE 

The pirates now weighed anchor, and slowly 
the ship began to move. Antonio watched the 
mountains, the hills, the temples and the palaces 
gradually become smaller and smaller and finally 
fade from view. Then a great pain at leaving 
his beloved fatherland, his sunny Italy, clutched 
his heart. Soon he was able to see nothing but the 
heavens and the vast expanse of water. 

For several days the vessel sailed hither and 
thither, in search of more prey. Suddenly the 
pirates spied in the distance a warship, which was 
in pursuit of them. The prisoners rejoiced in 
silence and felt buoyed by the hope of an early 
rescue. The pirates lashed the prisoners to 
greater activity, and made them help with the 
oars. Under cover of the night, the pirates made 
their escape. 

As the morning sun broke over the sea, Antonio 
gazed upon the waters, and saw nothing of the 
warship. His heart sank, and he could scarcely 
repress his tears. But suddenly he raised his 
voice, and said to his fellow-prisoners, ‘ 4 Though 
our trusting prayers have not been answered, 
30 


THE SLAVE 


31 


they will not pass unheeded, and our deliverance 
will surely come.” 

In less than an hour they saw in the distance 
the city of Algiers, glistening in the sunlight. 
Little by little they were able to distinguish 
the houses, and the Temple of the Turks, with the 
sign of the Crescent upon it. 

The ship anchored, the prisoners were landed, 
and after a short rest were led through the nar- 
row, dirty streets to the market place. Here they 
were exhibited for sale like cattle. The purchasers 
passed among the prisoners, and examined them 
as they would horses. In order to display their 
strength, the prisoners were obliged to lift heavy 
stones, placed there for that purpose. Many sales 
were made. The lawyer, the sailor and several 
others went for a good price. As Antonio could 
not lift the heavier stones, the buyers considered 
him too weak for a slave and scornfully passed 
him by. 

A little removed from the crowd, there stood a 
merchant with a very wrinkled face, who seemed 
to be taking but little interest in the sale. After 
all the captives had been sold, except Antonio, 
the merchant stepped nearer, put on his spec- 
tacles, and surveyed Antonio from head to foot. 
He examined his hands, and hesitated when he 
found them soft and white. 4 ‘ But, ’ ’ said the mer- 
chant, speaking in Italian, “ there must be some- 


32 


THE CAPTIVE 


thing that you have learned.’ ’ Antonio thought 
a moment, and not wishing to hide anything, said 
confidently that he could do clerical work and 
could write in the Italian and French languages. 
“Hm, hm,” said the merchant, “that is some- 
thing, but what else can you do!” 

Antonio said, ‘ ‘ I understand Latin and Greek. ’ ’ 

“Oh, my, such wares we cannot use here. Is 
there nothing else that you know ? ’ ’ 

“Yes,” answered Antonio, “I can sing and 
play the guitar.” 

‘ ‘ I wish I had an instrument at hand, ’ ’ said the 
merchant; “but suppose you sing a song for me.” 

Antonio did' as the old man wished, and his 
voice was sweet and clear. 

The merchant offered three gold pieces for 
Antonio, but as the dealers kept on raising the 
price, the merchant shrugged his shoulders, 
turned and went on. 

The pirates called him back and offered him the 
boy for ten gold pieces. The merchant paid the 
price, and the boy belonged to him. 

It grieved Antonio to think that he had been 
bought like a horse or a dog; but his trust and 
faith were so steadfast that he knew, in the full- 
ness of time, some good would result from it. 

The merchant was named Jesseph. He carried 
on a slave business, but only occasionally. Slaves 
who were accustomed to rough, hard work he 


THE SLAVE 


33 


never deigned to purchase; such as were young, 
active, refined or clever suited his purpose best. 
Besides, he tried to buy at the lowest figure, and 
sell at a great profit. He certainly hoped to sell 
Antonio at a high price. 

When he reached home, he said to his overseer : 
“See what a fine specimen I have brought. No- 
tice his manly bearing and refined, handsome 
face. See the intelligence that beams from his 
eyes. All these things fill me with the expectation 
of soon disposing of him profitably. 

“Now,” said he, turning to Antonio, “go with 
my overseer and buy yourself a guitar of the 
very best make. ’ ’ Then, addressing the overseer, 
he said, “Be sure you pay the very least amount 
possible.” 

When they returned Jesseph bade Antonio 
play and sing. 

“Oh, that is beautiful!” cried he. “That 
touches the heart. You talk well and you sing 
well; both are good recommendations and will 
certainly secure for you a fine position.” And, 
thought he to himself, “will bring me a good 
price, too.” 

Jesseph did not try to sell Antonio immediately. 
He hoped to teach him a little of the language, 
manners and customs of the Turks, so that he 
could the better fill a position in a Turkish house- 
hold. He gave him instruction, and was surprised 


34 


THE CAPTIVE 


at Ms rapid progress. He fed Mm well and 
housed Mm well, and exacted from Mm daily 
labor at clerical work. Often Antonio was 
obliged to unpack large cases of goods; but he 
performed all the work with patience, cheerful- 
ness and obedience. 


CHAPTER HI 

IN THE TURKISH FAMILY 

A year had slowly passed. One day Jesseph 
called Antonio to him and said: “I have some 
good news to impart. I have secured a very de- 
sirable position for you, and I am certain that you 
will meet all the requirements . 9 y 

J esseph bade Antonio gather together his 
things, and provided him with a suitable outfit. 
At the end of the week, he conducted Antonio to 
a Turkish house in the heart of the city. The 
servant, having announced their arrival, ushered 
them into a magnificent reception room. 

The master of the house, a Turk, clad in rich 
Turkish garments, sat upon a divan, smoking a 
long bamboo pipe which was filled with fragrant 
tobacco. Beside him, on a low table, stood a cup 
of coffee. 

Turning to Antonio, the Turk said, “I have 
been told that you are a fine singer and player. 
Let me hear you perform.” 

Modestly Antonio addressed the Turk and said : 
“I can sing nothing in your language; I know 
only Italian songs.” 

“That will please me, as I understand Italian. 
Just sing and play what you know best,” said the 
Turk. 


35 


36 


THE CAPTIVE 


Then Antonio, who felt himself an outcast from 
his own pleasant, sunny Italy, and transported as 
a captive to Africa, softly lifted his voice, and 
sang a song of home and fatherland, with deep 
tenderness and soulfulness. 

The Turk listened attentively, the smoke rising 
from his pipe, and said as soon as the song was 
ended : ‘ ‘ Bravo ! your talent exceeds my expecta- 
tion.’ ’ 

After plying Antonio with a few more ques- 
tions, he said, “I think you possess the necessary 
qualifications . 9 9 

Then the Turk counted out one hundred gold 
pieces to Jesseph and laid them upon the table. 
Jesseph counted them and placed them in his 
leather bag. “Your honor,” said he, turning to 
the Turk, “will be pleased with this bargain, I 
am sure; and you, Antonio, must show by your 
good works that you are worthy the price. Live 
well ! Adieu ! 9 9 

The Turk, Ashmed by name, was a rich mer- 
chant who traded extensively with other coun- 
tries. He wished Antonio to carry on his corre- 
spondence with French and Italian merchants, 
and to serve in his house. 

As it was now time to dine, he directed Antonio 
to prepare himself and then proceed to the dining- 
room. 

Here Antonio became acquainted with the other 
members of the household. At the table there 



“Now you may sing and play for us.” 











IN THE TURKISH FAMILY 


37 


were four persons, Ashmed, his wife, Fatime, and 
their two children, a hoy and a girl. 

As Ashmed’s wife removed the veil which had 
concealed her face, Antonio was struck by her 
exquisite beauty. The children, who were very 
well behaved, greeted him in a friendly way and 
watched him attentively. Antonio tried to do 
his best, and felt amply repaid when Ashmed 
said: 4 4 Your services this day have pleased us. 
Now you may sing and play for us.” 

As Antonio had noticed the affection which ex- 
isted in this household, he sang a sweet Italian 
song of motherly love. 

‘ 4 The song is beautiful, ’ ’ said the girl. And the 
boy said, ‘ ‘ I wish I could sing like that. ’ 1 

“Very well,” said the father, “Antonio shall 
teach you.” 

The children were overjoyed, and Antonio as- 
sured the father that it would give him great 
pleasure to instruct them. The music served as 
a bond to draw them closer, and soon the children 
grew very fond of Antonio. This pleased the 
parents, and won for Antonio their full apprecia- 
tion. 


CHAPTER IV 

THE LION 

Ashmed now decided to take his family, An- 
tonio included, to visit his country estate, which 
lay in the southwestern part of Algeria near the 
mountains. Here he owned a large house, sur- 
rounded by a beautiful garden. A short distance 
from the house stood a great number of olive 
trees belonging to the estate. Many slaves were 
busily employed gathering the olives, which were 
afterwards pressed to extract the oil. 

Shortly after their arrival, Ashmed took his 
family to view the estate and to watch the labor- 
ers finishing their day’s work. The sun was fast 
declining and the men, before leaving the grounds 
for the day, tried to extinguish a small fire which 
they had shortly before lighted. They stamped 
on the burning material and scattered it, leaving 
a brand or two to die out slowly. 

Ashmed and Fatime walked on to view the 
mountains, whose tops glowed in the sunlight, 
while the valley lay in shadow. The two children 
enjoyed themselves chasing insects that looked 
to them like flying diamonds. 

Suddenly there came down the mountain path 
a ferocious lion, with bristling mane and wide 
38 


THE LION 


39 


open mouth. All fled toward the house, pale with 
fright. The little girl, Almira, who could not run 
so fast, lost her footing and fell helpless on the 
ground as the lion was approaching her. An- 
tonio quickly seized a glowing fire-brand, swung it 
in circles and thus renewed the flames. With this 
fiery torch whirling before him, he walked boldly 
in the direction of the lion. 

He knew that all animals fear fire. The lion 
stumbled, stood still, shook his mane, uttered a 
roar that brought a thunderous echo from the 
mountains, then slowly retreated, always keeping 
his eyes fixed upon the torch. The enraged lion 
again stood still, growled and roared louder than 
before, and once more stood ready to spring. 
Antonio plucked up courage, and steadily swung 
his fiery weapon before him. The lion stood still 
for the third time. Suddenly it turned, trotted 
up the mountain path, and soon disappeared in 
the darkness of the approaching night. 

In the meantime the frightened child had 
reached her mother, who had tried hard to save 
her, but had found herself too helpless to move. 
Almira sank into her mother’s arms, overcome 
with the shock. The mother pressed her child’s 
pale face close to her own, and their tears 
mingled. The father turned his eyes, full of 
gratitude, toward heaven. He drew Antonio, in- 
wardly trembling, close to his side and pressed 
his hands in silent thanks. Little Aladin caressed 


40 


THE CAPTIVE 


his sister and said : 4 4 How glad I am that you are 
saved. If Antonio had not been here, the lion 
would have eaten you.” 

The father and mother praised Antonio for his 
heroism. But Antonio was only too glad to have 
saved Almira; and at night he thanked God for 
the strength and courage which He had sent him 
to save a human life. 


CHAPTER V 

THE OFFER 

In his whole life Antonio had never slept so 
peacefully as he did on this night; never had he 
arisen from his bed in such a happy frame of 
mind as on the following morning. He walked 
out into the garden and gazed for a long time at 
the sun, just peeping over the hills; he thought 
it had never shone so brightly. Never had the 
heavens appeared so blue or the flowers more 
vivid. Each dewdrop, too, seemed to be more 
brilliant. All nature proclaimed itself friendlier 
than ever. With the fragrance of the flowers, his 
grateful prayer ascended to heaven. As he went 
about gathering blossoms for the decoration of 
the house, he met his master, Ashmed, who wished 
him a pleasant good-morning. 

“Come with me; I have something important 
to tell you,” said Ashmed. 

He took Antonio affectionately by the hand and 
led him to a pathway lined on both sides with 
flowering bushes, where they walked up and 
down for a few moments in deep silence. After 
a short pause, Ashmed said: “I am greatly in- 
debted to you, Antonio. You have saved my child. 
Each moment I realize your bravery more and 
41 


42 


THE CAPTIVE 


more fully. From this hour you shall no longer 
be my slave, but I will look upon you as my son. 
You shall share all our joys.” 

For a moment Antonio seemed unable to utter 
a word, so completely was he lost in thought and 
overcome with emotion. Oh, the delight of being 
once more free, with the possibility of some day 
clasping in his arms his loved ones, still so far 
away. Suddenly awaking from his reverie, An- 
tonio thanked Ashmed again and again. 

Resuming their walk, Antonio talked of his 
childhood and his home in Italy ; and so tenderly 
and pathetically did he speak of his parents that 
Ashmed ’s heart was deeply moved. 

Appreciating the confidence and love which he 
felt drawing him closer and closer to the Turk, 
Antonio continued the conversation. He vividly 
described his home and country, and expressed a 
great longing to visit the familiar scenes again, 
and be clasped in the arms of his parents. 

This awoke in Ashmed a sense of the great loss 
which Antonio and his parents had suffered. As 
he had on the previous day almost lost his dear 
Almira, he now understood much better what the 
loss of a child could mean. He began to think 
how noble it would be to restore Antonio to his 
parents. He said nothing, however, and together 
they walked toward home. 

When Antonio entered the house he found 
Fatime awaiting her husband. 


THE OFFER 


43 


“Good Antonio !” she cried, as he entered, 
4 4 yon certainly performed an heroic deed yester- 
day. You snatched my child from death’s grasp, 
and yon did it at the risk of yonr own life.” 

‘ 4 It was no more than my duty, ’ ’ said Antonio. 

Then Almira took his hand and said: “An- 
tonio, how good yon were to save me”; and she 
kissed him again and again. 

Fatime then led him to talk of himself, and be- 
came intensely interested in the tale of his home 
and early training. Her mother’s heart went out 
to the hoy who had saved her child. 

Breakfast had been long delayed. As Ashmed 
now entered the room, the meal was soon dis- 
patched, and the children went with Antonio to 
an adjoining room, where they sang and played 
till dinner time. 


CHAPTER VI 


THE PLANS 

Ashmed and Fatime withdrew to the library, 
and seated themselves to enjoy a quiet half-honr 
in conversation. 

4 4 My dear husband, ’ ’ said his wife, 4 4 1 wish you 
had come a few moments sooner, and you would 
have heard a sad story. It was so full of love and 
longing that if I could help Antonio get back to 
his mother I feel that I should be repaying him, 
in a measure at least, for saving my child. Oh, 
how much better I understand now what a mother 
must feel at the loss of a child.” 

Ashmed’s face brightened as he heard these 
words. 4 4 How thankful I am that you are so 
minded/ ’ said he. 44 I feel just as you do, and I 
wish to discuss the matter fully with you . ’ 1 

Fatime was ready with plans at once. 4 4 You 
have,” said she, 4 4 often spoken of taking a trip 
to Italy and making your residence there. What 
could better suit your purpose than to do it now. 
Our treasures of gold and silver, pearls, diamonds 
and other valuables we could take with us. Our 
landed estates and all your wares we could sell. 
Let us do so as soon as possible, and leave Algiers 
forever. * ’ 


44 


THE PLANS 


45 


Ashmed praised his wife for her cleverness, 
and resolved to carry out her plans immediately. 

After a few more months of planning, he met 
with unusual success in disposing of his property, 
real and personal, and with his wife, the children 
and Antonio soon took passage on a steamer 
bound for Italy. 

As the city of Algiers receded from view, Ash- 
med and his family felt happy. Antonio was the 
happiest boy in the world. The thought of home 
and parents made the voyage seem a short one 
to him ; and soon the city of Salerno could be seen 
in the distance. When the steamer reached port, 
Ashmed and his family took up their quarters at 
an hotel, while Antonio was permitted to seek his 
home and family. 

One evening, as Antonio’s parents were seated 
beneath a tree at the door of their cottage, think- 
ing and talking of their loved boy, there came 
toward them a stranger. At first they did not 
recognize him as their Antonio, for he had grown 
taller and his complexion browner ; but when they 
looked into his face, they saw there such an ex- 
pression of love and tenderness, that they im- 
mediately knew their son. Oh, the great joy of 
this meeting, and the embracing and hand- shak- 
ing! Words failed them; for they were so over- 
come with emotion that they could not speak ; hut 
they drew him in triumph into the house. An- 
tonio removed his cloak and stood before them, 


46 


THE CAPTIVE 


richly clad, suitable to his station. His mother 
soon prepared a sumptuous meal for him, and 
while partaking of it, he related to his parents 
the events that had occurred during his long ab- 
sence. They wept over his woes, and rejoiced 
over his bravery, and praised him for his stead- 
fastness. 

At the end of the week Ashmed and his family 
called upon Antonio’s people. Ashmed honored 
them as if they were his own. He knew, too, that 
they had met with many financial losses, so he had 
made out a deed to them, which he handed to 
them, saying: 4 ‘As I have been benefited through 
you and your son, whom you trained so well, and 
who saved my child, I feel that it is my duty to 
share my fortune with you. Here is a deed which 
represents one-fourth of my wealth.” 

“No — no,” answered Antonio’s father. “Far 
he it from me to accept one penny. True, we are 
not rich; but neither are we poor, and in the re- 
turn of our long-lost Antonio we feel richly 
repaid. We offer you our gratitude and thank 
you for your protection of him, and for your 
generosity. ’ ’ 

“I regret that you will not accept my offer, 
but I trust you will not prevent me from bestow- 
ing it upon your son, Antonio. He has been so 
well tested that I know riches will not spoil him. 
Here, my dear Antonio, take this deed.” 

“I,” answered Antonio, “cannot accept your 


THE PLANS 


47 


handsome gift, but if I may, I would beg you to 
use your riches in behalf of those men who were 
taken captive with me on that pirate ship, par- 
ticularly the young lawyer, the poor sailor and 
the old fisherman, and buy their freedom for 
them. There is a society here in Salerno which 
devotes its time and attention to the needs of the 
outcast, the lost and the captive; and as it is in 
great need of funds, I know that your donation 
would be most acceptable to it and be productive 
of much good. I beg you to use the money in 
this way. A greater charitable work you can 
never perform.” 

Ashmed answered: “Not only half, but all of 
this money, I will give as a ransom for the three 
unfortunates you name, and for many more.” 

This greatly pleased Antonio, and he said : “I 
thank you sincerely, and I am sure that many 
blessings will be sent you in return.” 


CHAPTER VII 

RESTORED TO FREEDOM 

After searching for a suitable place to settle, 
Ashmed purchased a beautiful house not far from 
Antonio’s home. The families exchanged visits, 
and their friendly relations continued for years 
and years. Antonio resumed his studies at the 
best colleges, his tuition being paid by his friend 
and benefactor. 

One day, at Eastertide, Antonio returned home 
for a short visit. Ashmed and his family called 
upon Antonio, to whom they presented a letter 
which they had just received. In it, Antonio read 
the greetings which his friend, the lawyer, extend- 
ed to him, together with thanks to him and 
Ashmed for their kind helpfulness in securing 
his liberty for him. 

On the following day, as the guests were all 
seated at the table, a knock announced some 
strangers. They were the old fisherman and the 
young sailor who had been captives with An- 
tonio, but were now free and had come to offer 
their thanks. It was a touching sight. 

Ashmed said, “ Don’t thank me, but rather this 
boy. He is your emancipator.” 

“Yes,” said the old fisherman, “this is the boy 
48 


RESTORED TO FREEDOM 


49 


who appeared to us, like an angel, and comforted 
us as we sat in chains. We now lay our thanks 
at his feet.” 

Antonio waved them hack and said, “ Thank 
my dear parents, for they taught me by word and 
example; and everything I have done is due to 
their training.” 

Then Antonio ’s father stepped into their midst 
and raising his eyes to heaven, said: “All honor 
and praise we give to God. As always, He has 
made everything turn out for the best. He sends 
us great sorrows for some good purpose ; but He 
also sends us great joys. When a child follows 
the good instructions received from good parents, 
makes good use of his talents, and forgets not to 
be grateful, he will become an instrument of good 
for the benefit of humanity. Antonio was sent to 
you in your captivity, and through Antonio you 
were all led back to your liberty. Let us give 
thanks. ’ ’ 

After a long silence, the conversation again 
became animated. The men narrated the varied 
incidents in their lives, and talked about their 
future prospects. 

Ashmed gave the men some ready money with 
which to start in business, and they promised to 
repay him as soon as they were able. Ashmed 
did not wish the money refunded, but they felt 
that it would be more manly to do this. 


50 


THE CAPTIVE 


As the time for departure arrived, the men 
bade Antonio and Ashmed good-bye, and were off. 

The next day Antonio returned to college. He 
continued his studies there for several years, and 
was graduated with high honors. 

In the course of time he became an opera 
singer of international fame. He always main- 
tained a dignified bearing, free from any vanity; 
and recognizing his gift as coming from God, 
accepted the praise and acclamation of the world 
in all humility. 

He found time in his busy life to help the 
needy, and later became a director of the society 
which we have said was organized for the rescue 
of the outcast. He devoted his voice, his hands, 
his strength and his life to the betterment of 
mankind. 


THE ARTIST’S MASTER. 
PIECE 


CHAPTERS. 

I. The Gift. 

II. Under the Emperor's Bush. 

III. No Prophet in His Own Country. 

IV. The Condition. 


V. The Fulfilment. 





“Hans, undaunted, stepped np to her father. 




THE ARTIST’S MASTERPIECE 

CHAPTEB I 

THE GIFT 

A little village with its scattered glimmering 
lights lay in peaceful dreams. Just as a black 
swan draws her young under her, so the mighty 
Cathedral rested in the midst of the low houses, 
which seemed to creep, like birds, under its wing. 

It struck twelve from the church tower, and 
larger and smaller clocks, near and far, carried 
the message onward. Dead silence again hovered 
over the sleeping village. 

Just as dawn bathed the hills in sunlight, two 
stately men wandered along the Cathedral 
Square. One seemed somewhat older, with his 
full gray beard. His hair, rich and abundant, 
curled beneath his velvet cap. He walked so 
majestically that one could see, at the very first 
glance, that he was no ordinary person, but one 
upon whose shoulders an invisible weight rested. 
Handsome, tall and noble, just as one would pic- 
ture the highest type of man — a king from head 
to foot. 

Here, in the little village of Breisach, as he 
named it, Emperor Maximilian liked to rest from 
53 


54 THE ARTIST’S MASTERPIECE 


the cares of his Empire. Here, in this little re- 
treat, filled with calm and quietude, he loved to 
wander. From here he sent letters full of tender 
thoughts to his daughter in the Netherlands. 

He loved the place well, and christened it 
“Care-Free.” 

As Emperor Maximilian walked proudly, hut 
with heavy tread, along the parapet of the Cathe- 
dral Square, his eye rested upon the gay scene at 
his feet. To-day the invisible world of care 
pressed heavily upon his shoulders. Suddenly he 
stood still, and turning to his private secretary, 
he said, “I wonder who those children are who 
are so industriously planting a rosebush in the 
niche of the wall ? ’ ’ 

The children, a girl and a boy (the former 
about eight, and the latter twelve years of age), 
were so engrossed in their work that they had not 
noticed the approach of the Emperor, until his 
presence was so near that it startled them. They 
turned full face upon him. Then the boy touched 
the girl and said, “It’s the Emperor!” 

“What are you doing there?” he asked, and 
his artistic eye feasted on the beauty of this 
charming pair. 

“We are planting a rose-bush,” said the boy, 
undaunted. 

The Emperor smiled, and said, “What is your 
name ? ’ ’ 

“Hans Le Fevre, sir.” 


THE GIFT 


55 


4 4 And the little one, is she yonr sister ?” 

No, she is Marie, onr neighbor’s child.” 

4 4 Ah! — yon like each other very much?” 

4 4 Yes, when I’m old enough, and when I own 
a knife, I’m going to marry her.” 

The Emperor opened his eyes wide, and said, 
4 4 Why do you need a knife?” 

4 4 Surely,” answered the boy, earnestly, 4 4 if I 
have no knife I cannot cut, and if I cannot cut 
I can earn no money. My mother has always said 
that without money one cannot marry. Besides, 
I should have to have much money to enable me 
to marry my little friend Marie, as she is the 
Counselor’s daughter.” 

4 4 But,” questioned the Emperor, 4 4 what do you 
want to cut?” 

4 4 Wood!” 

4 4 Ha! ha! I understand. You want to be a 
wood-carver. Now, I remember that I once met 
two young boys, named Le Fevre. They were 
studying in Niirnberg, with Diirer, 4 The Prince 
of Artists.’ Were they, perhaps, your relatives?” 

4 4 Yes, my cousins, and once I saw them carve, 
and I would like to learn how, too ; but my father 
and uncle are dead, and my mother never buys me 
a knife. ’ ’ 

The Emperor thrust his hand into his pocket, 
and after much fumbling and jingling, pulled out 
a knife with an artistically carved handle. 4 4 Will 
that do?” said he. 


56 THE ARTIST’S MASTERPIECE 


The boy flushed, and one could see how beneath 
his coarse, torn shirt his heart beat with joy. 

“Yes,” stammered the boy, “it’s beautiful.” 

“Well, take it and use it diligently,” said the 
Emperor. 

The boy took the treasure from the Emperor’s 
hand as carefully as if it were red hot and might 
burn his fingers. 

“I thank you many times!” was all that he 
could say; but in his dark eyes there beamed a 
fire of joy whose sparks of love and gratitude 
electrified the Emperor. 

“Would you like to go to your cousins in Niirn- 
berg, and help them in plate-engraving? There’s 
plenty of work there. ’ ’ 

“I would like to go to Diirer in Niirnberg, but 
I don’t want to be a plate-engraver. I would 
rather cut figures that look natural.” 

“That’s right,” said the Emperor, “you will 
be a man, indeed; always hold to that which is 
natural and you will not fail. ’ ’ 

At that moment the Emperor drew a leather 
bag from his velvet riding jacket and gave it to 
the boy. 

“Be careful of it. Save the golden florins 
within; give them to no one. Remember, the 
Emperor has ordered that they be used toward 
your education. Study well, and when you are 
full-grown and able to travel, then go to Diirer, 
in Niirnberg. Convey to him my greetings; say 


THE GIFT 


57 


to Mm that, as I, while in his studio one day, held 
the ladder for him lest he fall, so should he now 
hold the ladder of fame for you, that you may 
be able to climb to the very top of it. Will you 
promise me all that, my boy?” 

“Yes, your majesty!” cried Hans, inspired, 
and, seizing the Emperor’s right hand, he shook 
it heartily and kissed it. Then the Emperor 
passed on, while the boy stood there in a dream. 
Marie still held tightly to her apron. 

Just at that moment a servant appeared who 
had been in search of Marie. The children ran 
to meet her and related their experience with the 
Emperor. The servant called all the townsfolk 
together to see the knife and the contents of the 
bag, but wise Hans kept the bag closed. 

The next day the Emperor rode off; but for 
many days to come his talk with Hans was the 
town topic. “Surely, it is no wonder,” said the 
envious ones. ‘ 4 Hans always was a bold boy and 
knew how to talk up for himself, so why shouldn’t 
he know how to talk to the Emperor?” This 
speech was decidedly undeserved; but Hans was 
too young to understand their meanness. He was 
absorbed in the Emperor’s greatness and kindli- 


ness. 


CHAPTEB III 

UNDER THE EMPEROR’S BUSH 

Years passed. Hans Le Fevre lost his mother 
and Marie hers; and closer and closer did the 
bond of companionship draw these children. 

In the evening, when her father was bnsy with 
a committee-meeting and the housekeeper was 
gossiping with the neighbors, Hans and Marie 
would climb the garden wall. Here they would 
sit together, while Hans cut beautiful toys for 
her, such as no child of those times had. He 
would talk with her about all the beautiful pic- 
tures and carvings he had lately seen, and of the 
masters in the art of wood-carving; for now he 
was attending art lectures and studying hard. 
Hours were spent in this way; but often, when 
the opportunity offered, they would run off to the 
Cathedral and water the rose-bush, which Hans 
had now christened the “Emperor’s Bush.” 

There they loved best to linger, for there they 
hoped always that the Emperor would return. 
And often they would cry out aloud, “Your 
Majesty, Your Majesty, come again!” 

But their voices died away unanswered; for, 
far from them, the Emperor was concerned with 
58 


UNDER THE EMPEROR’S BUSH 59 


the affairs of State. The children waited for him 
in vain. The Emperor came no more. 

As the time went by, the children grew, and the 
rose-bush grew also. Just as if the tender 
threads of love in their hearts had unconsciously 
entwined them as one around the roots of the 
little hush, it kept drawing them to itself, there in 
the niche of the wall. There they found each 
other, day after day. The hush was like a true 
friend, who held their two hands fast in his. But 
their true friend was not strong enough to hold 
together what other people wished to separate. 

The lovely, highly respected Counselor’s 
daughter was no longer permitted to meet Hans. 
Her father forbade her one day, saying that 
Hans was not only poor but was not even a native 
of the town. His ancestors were Hollanders who 
had wandered into Breisach. A stranger he was, 
and a poor stranger at that. He was a sort of 
Pariah and could not he fitted into their time- 
honored customs. Then, too, he did not pursue 
any regular trade. 1 ‘ He expects to he an artist. ’ ’ 
At that time that was as good as to he a robber, 
or a tramp or a conjurer. 

Whatever Hans did or whatever he worked at, 
he kept a secret. He had bought the little house 
in which he dwelt, and since his mother’s death 
had lived there all alone. Nobody came or went, 
except a famous sculptor who had quarreled one 
day with a native in Breisach and been obliged to 


60 THE ARTIST’S MASTERPIECE 


leave the town. People said that Hans helped 
him get away. Ever since that time Hans had 
been in ill-repute with his rich neighbor, the 
Counselor. 

Often Hans met Marie at the “ Emperor’s 
Bush,” and these little meetings seemed to make 
them like each other more than they had ever 
dreamed. After Hans had missed Marie for 
many days, he sang a little song beneath her 
window. 

The next day she met Hans at the “Emperor’s 
Bush, ’ ’ and there they promised to be true to each 
others always. Then, in a moment of ecstasy, 
Hans cried out, “Would that the Emperor were 
here!” Just as if he felt that no one but the 
Emperor was worthy of sharing his great joy. 

As the Emperor did not come, Hans cut the 
initials “M.” and “H.” in the bark of the rose- 
bush, and above it a little crown. This meant 
“Marie, Hans and Emperor Maximilian.” 

The fall passed and winter came ; and the chil- 
dren now seldom saw each other. Hans sang so 
frequently beneath Marie ’s window that her 
father heard him one night, and in great anger 
threatened to punish her if she continued her 
acquaintance with this boy. 

One evening Hans and Marie stood for the last 
time under the rose-bush which they had planted 
eight years before. He was now a youth of 
twenty years ; she a rosebud of sixteen summers. 


UNDER THE EMPEROR’S BUSH 61 


It was a lowering day in February. The snow 
had melted and a light wind shook the bare 
branches of the bush. With downcast eyes she 
had related to him all she had been forced to hear 
concerning him; and big tears rolled down her 
cheeks. 

4 ‘ Marie,” said the boy in deep grief, “ I sup- 
pose you will finally be made to believe that I am 
really a bad person?” 

Then she looked full upon him, and a light 
smile played over her features as she said: “No, 
Hans, never, never. No one can make me doubt 
you. They do not understand you, but I do. You 
have taught me (what the others do not know) 
everything that is good and great and noble. 
You have made me what I am; just as your artis- 
tic hands have cut beautiful forms out of dead 
wood. ’ 9 She took his big, brown hands and gently 
pressed them to her lips. “I believe in you, for 
you worship the Supreme with your art; and the 
man who does that, in word or deed, cannot be 
wicked . 9 9 

“And will you always remain true, Marie, till 
I have perfected myself and my art, and can re- 
turn to claim you?” 

“Yes, Hans, I will wait for you; and should I 
die before you return, it is here under this ‘Rose- 
bush, 9 where we have spent so many happy hours, 
that I wish to be buried. You must return here to 
rest, when wearied by your troubles; and every 


62 THE ARTIST’S MASTERPIECE 


rose-leaf that falls upon you will be a good wish 
from me.” 

Her tears fell silently, and their hearts were 
sorely tried by the grief of parting. 

4 ‘Don’t cry,” said Hans, “all will yet be well. 
I am going to Diirer, as the Emperor bade me. 
I will learn all that I can ; and when I feel I know 
something, I will seek the Emperor, wherever he 
may be, tell him my desires, and beg him to inter- 
cede for me with your father.” 

“Oh, yes, the Emperor — if he were only here, 
he would help us.” 

“Perhaps he will come again,” said Hans. 
“We will pray that he be sent to us, or I to him.” 

They sank upon their knees in the cold, soft 
winter grass; and it seemed to them as if a mir- 
acle would be performed, and the Rosebush be 
changed into the Emperor. 

There — what was that? The big clock on the 
church struck slowly, solemnly, sadly 

The two looked up. “What is it, do you sup- 
pose? A fire — enemies, perhaps? I sense a great 
calamity,” said she. 

J ust at that moment people were coming toward 
the church. Hans hurried up to them, to find out 
what was the trouble, while Marie waited. 

“Where have you been, that you don’t know? 
Why, yonder in the market place the notice was 
read — ‘the Emperor is dead!’ ” they cried. 

“The Emperor is dead?” 


UNDER THE EMPEROR’S BUSH 63 


There stood Hans, paralyzed. All his hopes 
seemed shattered. As soon as quiet reigned 
again, he returned to Marie, and seated himself 
on a bench. Leaning his head in uncontrollable 
grief against the slender stem of the “Rose- 
bush,” he moaned aloud: “Oh, my Emperor, my 
dear, good Emperor, why did you leave me?” 
Lightly Marie touched his shoulder in sympathy. 

The last rays of the setting sun had now de- 
parted. The last tones of the dirge had died away. 
Everything was still and deserted, as if there 
could never again be spring. 

“Oh, Marie!” lamented Hans, hopelessly, “the 
King will never come again. ’ 9 

“Bear up,” said Marie, “for we have each 
other . 9 ’ And as she gazed far off in the twilight, 
her eyes seemed like two exiled stars, yearningly 
seeking their home. 

As Hans gazed at her, standing there before 
him with her hands crossed over her breast, in 
all her purity and humility, a great joy lit up his 
countenance. He folded his hands, inspired. 

“Marie,” he whispered, “let us not despair. 
In this very moment I have received an inspira- 
tion, and if I can bring to pass that which I now 
see in my mind’s eye, I shall be an artist who will 
need the help of no one — not even an Emperor.” 

The dawn of the next day found Hans ready to 
set out on his journey. He carried a knapsack 
on his hack, and on his breast the little leather 


64 THE ARTIST’S MASTERPIECE 


bag which the Emperor had given him, with the 
few florins that remained. He closed the door of 
his little house, put the key into his pocket, and 
walked slowly off. Loud and clear sounded his 
rich, soft voice as he sang, “On the rose thorn, 
on the rose thorn, there my hope is hanging!” 

Softly in Marie’s house a window was raised, 
and with a little white handkerchief she gently 
waved her mute farewell. 

Quickly mastering himself, Hans grasped his 
staff more firmly, and now only his heavy tread 
echoed through the streets. 


CHAPTER III 

NO PROPHET IN HIS OWN COUNTRY 

Year after year passed. Hans Le Fevre had 
not been heard from. People thought of him, 
however, when they passed his house with the 
front door firmly locked and the shades drawn, 
and wondered who would next lay claim to it. 

Only Marie thought constantly of him, and 
hoped and waited longingly. No pleading, no 
scolding, no threats could arouse her. She never 
left the house, unless it was to visit the rosebush 
which she watered and tended so well that it had 
now grown tall and stately. She knew that the 
sight of it would cheer his faithful heart on his re- 
turn. It was the only bond between them. He had 
planted it with her, and they both loved it. It 
was almost as high as the niche where it stood, 
and seemed as if it wished to stretch beyond. 
Marie bent it and fastened it to the wall with a 
string, so that its flowering top had to bend be- 
neath the vaulted niche. 

These quiet acts were her only joy, her only 
recreation. In work and prayer she passed her 
days, and her fresh young cheeks began to pale. 
Her father noticed the change, but without pity. 

65 


66 THE ARTIST’S MASTERPIECE 


It was fortunate for her that his busy life took 
him away from home so often. 

Just at this time the people of Breisach desired 
a new altar for their church. A proclamation 
was accordingly sent forth to all German artists 
to compete, by submitting drawings and esti- 
mates for the work. To the one who sent the 
best the contract would be given to carry out the 
design. 

Marie heard little about this, as she seldom 
came in contact with the people. She lived lonely 
in her little home. It was now the fifth year since 
Hans’ departure, and long ago his letters had 
ceased to come, because her father had forbidden 
any correspondence. Hans had no friends in 
Breisach through whom he could communicate. 
But such uncertainty gnaws. Marie was tired of 
waiting — very tired. 

One afternoon she seated herself at her desk 
and started to write her last wish. Her father 
was absent, and she was unwatched. 

“When I die,” she wrote, “I beg you to bury 
me yonder beside the Cathedral wall, under the 
rosebush which I planted in my childhood. 
Should Hans Le Fevre ever return, I beg you — ” 
she paused, for just then a song, at first soft, then 
louder, greeted her ears. 

No star ever fell from heaven, no swallow ever 
flew more quickly than flew the maiden to her 
window, drawn by this call. 


NO PROPHET IN HIS OWN COUNTRY 67 


In trembling tones the final words of the song 
died away. Her paper, her ink, her pen, every- 
thing had fallen from her in her haste. As a 
captive bird, freed from its cage, flies forth joy- 
ously, so Marie bounded forth from her home. 
Faster and faster she went, never stopping till 
she reached the rosebush. Breathless and with 
beating heart, she halted. There before her stood 
Hans Le Fevre. 

They seated themselves upon the bench. Long, 
long they sat silently. 

At last Hans said, ‘ ‘ My dear, true girl, how pale 
you have grown. Are you ill ? ’ ’ 

She shook her head. “No more, and I trust 
never again. But you stayed away much too long. 
Couldn’t you have come back sooner ?” 

“No, my dear, I could not. Had I returned 
as a poor, struggling carver your father would 
have banished me from his door-step. We should 
then have seen each other again, only to be 
parted for the second time. So I waited till I 
had accomplished what I set out to do. I have 
traveled extensively and feasted my eyes on the 
beautiful works of art in great cities. I have 
studied under Durer, and now my name is men- 
tioned with honor as one of Durer ’s pupils.” 

“Oh, Hans, do you really believe that that will 
soften my father’s heart?” said Marie, anxiously. 

“Yes, Marie, I don’t think that he can fail me. 
I heard in Niirnberg that a new altar is to be 


68 THE ARTIST’S MASTERPIECE 


built in this Cathedral, so I hastened here to com- 
pete. Should I be deemed worthy to do such a 
piece of work, what could your father have 
against me!” 

Marie, however, shook her head doubtfully; 
but Hans was full of hope. 

4 4 But see how our rosebush has grown!” cried 
Hans in astonishment. “You tended it well; but 
it seems almost as if the roses had taken from you 
all your life and strength and health. Return my 
darling’s strength to her,” Hans said laughingly ; 
and taking a handful of roses, he softly stroked 
her face with them; but her cheeks remained 
white. 

“Rejoice, my rosebud, rejoice, my darling, for 
the spring will soon be here; and with my care 
you will soon be well.” 

A half hour later, the beadle walked timidly 
into the council hall of the high-gabled Council 
House, and said, “Honored Counselor, will you 
graciously pardon me, but there is a man without 
who pressingly begs to be ushered into your 
presence. ’ ’ 

“Who is it!” asked the Counselor. 

“It is Hans Le Fevre,” answered the beadle, 
“but he is handsomely attired. I hardly recog- 
nized him.” 

This was a great surprise to all. Hans, the 
runaway, the tramp, who slipped away by night — 



“If this scamp does not leave instantly we will have the 

beadle drag him away.” 














70 THE ARTIST’S MASTERPIECE 


whither, no one had learned; and had wandered 
for years — where, no one knew. 

i ‘ What does he want?” cried the Counselor. 

“He wishes to make inquiry concerning the 
construction of the altar, and to lay his designs 
before you.” 

“What, I should hold conversation with a 
scamp like that; with a boy who never accom- 
plished anything but what any old cooper could 
do?” shouted the Counselor. The other wise 
counselmen fully agreed with him. 

“He had better take himself off,” was the final 
decision. 4 ‘ Such a piece of work we will not give 
to any passing bungler.” 

The good-natured beadle sadly retraced his 
steps, after this blunt speech. But he returned 
immediately, and with a thousand bows, brought 
with him a large portfolio. Hans followed. 

6 ‘ Hans would not have it otherwise but that the 
honored gentlemen should look, at least for a 
moment, upon his designs, and, if the worthy 
gentlemen are ignorant of what Hans Le Fevre 
can do, possibly by inquiring of Diirer, in Nurn- 
berg, they would be enlightened. ’ ’ 

“If this scamp does not leave instantly,” cried 
the Counselor, “we will have the beadle drag him 
away. ’ ’ 

“Easy, easy, Mr. Counselor,” said the Mayor 
(a quiet man, who in the meanwhile had opened 
the portfolio), “the design does not seem so bad 


NO PROPHET IN HIS OWN COUNTRY 71 


to me. See! see! ingeniously thought out,” 
cried he. 

“But just to design a thing is far easier than 
to carry it out,” said another. 

“Hans Le Fevre never did this kind of work 
before.” 

“Perhaps he has progressed,” remarked the 
Mayor, “and possibly he would do it cheaper than 
the renowned Master Artist. ’ ’ 

This idea took root. “But,” said one, “it 
would be an unheard of thing to give such an ex- 
alted work to a simple boy like Hans Le Fevre, 
whom everybody knew as a stupid child, and 
whom we looked upon disdainfully. The appear- 
ance of the thing alone would not justify us in 
selecting him.” 

But this remark had its good side, too ; for the 
gentlemen now decided that, in order that the 
work be given to the most competent, it would be 
advisable to send to Diirer all the designs thus 
far submitted, and ask his opinion in the matter. 

Marie cried bitterly when she heard of the 
treatment Hans had received; but Hans did not 
yet despair. At the same time that these worthy 
gentlemen dispatched the designs to Diirer, Hans 
sent a letter to his great friend and teacher, in 
whom he had great faith. 

Weeks elapsed. The Counselor’s attention was 
directed to affairs of state, and thus withdrawn 


72 THE ARTIST’S MASTERPIECE 


from his daughter, who lived and bloomed with 
the returning spring. 

Hans had opened his desolate house, for which, 
in the meantime, he had carved a beautiful front 
door. Notwithstanding all the depreciation ex- 
pressed for the native artist’s ability, this door 
caused quite a sensation. 

Diirer’s answer was long delayed. At last, 
after four weeks, the letter arrived. Who can 
describe the astonishment of the assembled com- 
mittee, as the contents of the letter revealed the 
design of the disdainfully rejected applicant, 
Hans Le Fevre. 

Diirer wrote, “With the very best intentions, I 
could recommend no wiser course for you to pur- 
sue than to use the sketch presented by my friend 
and pupil, Hans Le Fevre; and I will furnish 
security for the complete execution of his plan. 
I cannot understand how a town that harbors in 
its midst such a genius, should look abroad for 
other artists. Hans Le Fevre is such an honor- 
able lad and such a great artist, that the town of 
Breisach should be proud to name him as her 
own, and should do everything in its power to 
hold him captive ; for to Hans the world lies open, 
and only his attachment to Breisach has moved 
him to return there once more.” 

Directly upon receipt of this letter, an unheard 
of number of villagers crowded the narrow street. 
Hans, who was working quietly in his shop, ran 


NO PROPHET IN HIS OWN COUNTRY 73 


to the window to see what the noise was about. 
But lo! the crowd had stopped at his house and 
loudly did they make the brazen knocker re- 
sound, as it struck the carved lion’s head upon 
the door. 

Hans came forth, and before hi m stood a depu- 
tation of men in festive attire, followed by a 
throng of residents. 

“What do you desire of me?” asked Hans, sur- 
prised. 

“Hans Le Fevre,” began the speaker, “the 
honorable Counselor makes known to you that he 
has finally decided to honor your application, 
with the instruction that if money be needed for 
the purchase of materials, application may be 
made to the clerk of the town.” 

Hans clapped his hands in glee. “Is it true — 
is it possible?” said he. “To whom am I in- 
debted for this good fortune?” 

“The Council sends you this letter which we 
will now read before these assembled people.” 
Hans had not noticed in his joy that his neighbor, 
the Counselor, had angrily closed his windows, as 
if the praise bestowed upon the young artist might 
offend his ears. 

After the deputation had departed, and Hans 
found himself alone, he dressed, put a flower in 
his buttonhole, and walked over to the Counselor ’s 
house; for now the moment had arrived when he 
could prove his worth. 


CHAPTER IV 

THE CONDITION 

Marie opened the door. A loud cry of joy es- 
caped her, and she ran to her room. 

Hans, undaunted, stepped up to her father. 

“What do you wish?” said the Counselor, with 
flashing eyes. 

4 1 1 wish first to thank you for your faith in me. ’ ’ 

“You need not thank me,” interrupted her 
father. ‘ 4 1 did not cast my vote for you . ’ 9 

“So?” said Hans, disappointed. “That was 
not kind. What did you have to say against me ? 9 9 

“What, do you still ask the same old question? 
You well know my opinion of you. You know 
that I wish my daughter to marry a good and 
honorable man.” 

“Well,” said Hans, “I know a worthy man and 
I have come to bring him before you.” 

“Pray, who can he be?” 

“I, worthy Counselor.” 

“You? Hid anyone ever hear such audacity 
from a beggar hoy?” 

“Mr. Counselor, I never was a beggar. I was 
poor, hut let that person come before you who 
dares say he ever gave me a cent. My father 
supported me until his death, when my mother 
74 


THE CONDITION 


75 


took up the burden. The only thing I ever re- 
ceived was the King’s gift, and for that I never 
begged. The King gave it to me out of his big 
heart. His eye could pierce with love the soul of 
humanity ; and in me, a poor boy, he sensed ap- 
preciation. Truly, his money has accumulated 
interest. I am no beggar, Mr. Counselor, and 
will not tolerate such a speech.” 

“No, you will not tolerate it,” said he, some- 
what calmed. “Where, then, is your wealth?” 

“Here,” said Hans Le Fevre, and he touched 
his head and his hands. ‘ ‘ 1 have a thinking head 
and skilled hands.” 

“Well, what do you purpose doing?” 

“For the next two years I shall be busy with 
the altar, which will yield me ample means to 
marry your daughter. ’ ’ 

Long and wearily they argued, till Hans felt as 
if he could control himself no longer. 

“0, patience!” he cried, “if it were not that I 
regard you as something holy, because you are the 
father of Marie, I would not brook your disdain. 
A king held the ladder for Diirer, and a Counselor 
treats his beloved pupil like a rogue. Yonder is 
a laughing, alluring world. There I have enjoyed 
all the honors of my calling; and here, in this 
little dark corner of the earth, I must let myself 
be trodden upon. All because I bring a ray of 
sunshine and beauty that hurts your blinded eyes 
— in short, because I am an artist.” 


76 THE ARTIST’S MASTERPIECE 


“Go, then, into your artistic world. Why didn’t 
you stay there ? Why did you bother to return to 
this dark corner, as you name it?” 

“Because I love your daughter so much, that 
no sacrifice I could make would he too great.” 

“Did you for one moment think that I could 
sink so far as to allow my daughter to marry an 
artist ? ’ ’ 

“Yes, considering the respect I enjoyed.” 

“Well, I don’t care how many times the King 
held the ladder, or whether or not he cleaned 
Diirer’s shoes, I will hold to this: that as impos- 
sible as it is for you to build within the Cathedral 
an altar that is yet higher than the Cathedral, 
just so impossible is it for you to marry my 
daughter, who is so much above you in station.” 

“Mr. Counselor, is this your last word?” said 
Hans. 

The Counselor laughed scornfully, and said, 
4 ‘ Carve an altar that is higher than the church in 
which it is to stand. Then, and not before then, 
you may ask for my daughter.” 

Hans hastened from his presence and turned 
his steps to the rosebush. It was a beautiful 
day. Shadowless the world lay before him. 
Splendor and glory streamed from the sky. But 
nature in all her beauty seemed to him, this day, 
like a disinterested friend, who laughs while an- 
other grieves. He seated himself in the niche 
under the rosebush, where somehow he always 


THE CONDITION 


77 


felt the Emperor’s presence and influence, and 
where, too, he always found peace and hope. 

But what hope could ever come to him again? 
Could the bush uproot itself and plead with the 
Counselor? Could the King, who had never re- 
turned in life, return from death to help him? No 
one could help him, for had not the Counselor 
taken an oath, that he would not give his daughter 
to him, unless he built an altar higher than the 
church in which it should stand. This, of course, 
was impossible. His overcharged feelings gave 
vent to tears, and he cried, “My Emperor, my 
Emperor, why did you desert me?” This time 
Marie was not at his side to cheer him, and tell 
him that God would not desert him. 

All was still, except the humming of the bees 
among the roses; and in the distance the birds 
sang. All of a sudden something struck him in 
the back. He thought that maybe the Emperor 
had returned. But what was it but the rose- 
bush, which by the force of its own weight had 
loosened itself from the arched wall and had 
pressed itself outward. For the first time, Hans 
noticed that the bush had grown much higher 
than the niche in which it had been planted. As 
quick as lightning a thought flashed through his 
brain. What had the rosebush taught him? 


CHAPTER V 

THE FULFILMENT 

Hans could not see Marie, for her father had 
sent her far away. 

From early morn till late at night Hans worked, 
without rest or quiet. Neither pleadings nor 
threats moved him to desist from his labors. He 
lived like a hermit in his workshop. Two long 
years had passed; and at last Hans appeared at 
the Council Chamber and made known the fact 
that he had accomplished the work assigned him. 

Great excitement reigned in Breisach. The 
Cathedral was locked for three days, during which 
time the altar was to be placed. Many inquisitive 
neighbors gathered around the Cathedral to get 
a glimpse of the work, if possible. But well- 
wrapped and concealed, Hans brought the pieces, 
one by one, from his house — and so the excite- 
ment grew intenser every moment. 

On the fourth day the altar was to be dedicated. 
Early in the day the people started for the Ca- 
thedral. Joyously the big clock resounded. From 
all sides, by foot and by wagon, the country folk 
swarmed to see the wonderful work, the talk of 
the neighborhood for the past two years. 

At break of day Hans had hastened to the 
78 


THE FULFILMENT 


79 


Cathedral once more to test his work with his 
critical eye. Just then the bell pealed forth. He 
dropped his hat, and with folded hands offered a 
short prayer. 

Anyone who has worked for years, in the sweat 
of his brow, for future and fortune, knows how 
Hans felt as he stood there in his mute eloquence. 
His God understood it, too. 

Now the crowd surged into the Cathedral, and 
the critical moment had arrived when the artist 
gave his work, executed through long, lonely days 
and nights, freely to the public eye. One last 
look he cast upon his creation, then he withdrew, 
and in anxious suspense watched the impression 
it would make upon the assembled people. 

The morning sun sent her full rays directly 
upon the altar, and an exclamation of astonish- 
ment echoed from the high- vaulted roof. Joy and 
wonder filled each breast. There stood the altar 
before the people in all its glory. Was it really 
wood — stiff, hard wood — from which these figures 
had been carved? Were they not human? And 
that host of angels that seemed to be singing 
“Hallelujah,” each one so perfectly natural. All 
figures were life size. The entire work was en- 
twined and crowned with wreaths of artistically 
carved foliage, the center branch of which reached 
upward to the arched ceiling. 

The untrained eye of the simple villagers could 
not, all at once, drink in such a work. Not one 


80 THE ARTIST’S MASTERPIECE 


of them had ever beheld the like. They felt there 
must be some magic in it. They now crowded 
around the artist, who, modest and deeply affect- 
ed, felt every eye that beamed upon him. 

The Mayor stepped forward and heartily shook 
him by the hand. Each one followed his example, 
except the Counselor, who leaned sullenly against 
a pillar. 

Marie, who had been permitted to return for 
this occasion, stood beside her father, paler than 
ever, but with a heavenly expression in her 
charming face. 

“Do you not notice that one of the angels on 
the altar resembles Marie ? ’ ’ said one to the other. 

“True it is.” 

“And that another angel resembles the Em- 
peror Maximilian?” said an old man. Like light- 
ning, this news flew from row to row. Marie and 
the Emperor had been portrayed. 

“Yes, my friends,” said Hans, calmly and dis- 
tinctly, “I did that because I know of nothing 
more beautiful in the world than the Emperor and 
Marie. God made people in His image, and the 
sculptor, who is like a creator, has the right to 
choose those forms which he feels are most like 
the Image.” 

“Well said,” echoed from all sides. 

Now Hans, with bold strides, neared the bench 
where the Counselor sat with his daughter. 

“I still have something to say to you, and you 


THE FULFILMENT 


81 


must hear me. I have fully carried out your be- 
hest. Will you now keep your oath? You de- 
manded of me what seemed impossible; namely, 
‘To build an altar higher than the Church in 
which it should stand/ and you solemnly vowed, 
that if I accomplished this, I should wed your 
daughter. Now, Mr. Counselor, look up. The 
altar is exactly one foot higher than the Church, 
and yet it stands within the Church — I have 
merely bent the top of it.” 

The Counselor saw it and paled. He had not 
dreamed of such a thing. It sickened him ; but, as 
Counselor, in all propriety and dignity, he would 
have to keep his word before these assembled 
people. 

A long pause ensued. Hans kept his patience. 
Then the Counselor arose, and taking his daugh- 
ter by the hand, presented her to Hans, saying, 
“A Counselor should never break his word. 
There, take my child. You have fulfilled the con- 
dition and I keep my vow. ’ 9 

Two young boys hastily brought in some 
branches from the rosebush, and wove wreaths 
for the pair. With loud approval, they crowned 
the master and his bride. Humbly, Hans re- 
moved his crown, and laid it on the altar. ‘ ‘ These 
roses belong to God. With them He saved me. 
Do you notice, Marie , 9 9 said he, as he pointed up- 
ward to the curved top of the altar, “that’s what 
the rosebush taught me. To you, Mr. Counselor, 


82 THE ARTIST’S MASTERPIECE 


I would say that one may bend and still be greater 
than the one who causes him to stoop. ’ ’ 

A few weeks later, Hans and Marie were mar- 
ried at this altar. It was a wedding the elegance 
of which surprised Breisach. For his work the 
grateful town had paid Hans a sum of money 
which, for that period, was a small fortune. 

Marie ’s father paid all the expenses which this 
occasion demanded. By this time he realized how 
unreasonable he had been, and did all in his power 
to make amends. Besides, he now respected his 
artist son-in-law, and for many years he lived 
with the couple in peace and happiness. 


THE VINEYARD ON THE 
HILLSIDE 


CHAPTERS. 

I. Missing. 

II. The Faithful Dog. 

III. The Fond Foster-Parents. 

IV. The Errand. 

V. The Old Man. 

VI. The Legacy. 


VII. The Journey. 





“They reached the cradle and discovered the child in it. 






THE VINEYARD ON THE 
HILLSIDE 

CHAPTER I 

MISSING 

Many years ago, in a quaint little village bor- 
dering the bank of the Rhine River, there lived a 
hard-working farmer, named Joseph Swift, and 
his industrious wife, Caroline. 

Their neat little white cottage stood very near 
the edge of the water, where on the bright, sunny 
days it was beautifully reflected. On one side of 
the cottage, there jutted out into the river a little 
hill, overgrown with grapevines which Joseph 
had planted, and which as a result of training and 
watchfulness yielded him abundant fruit. South 
of the house, there stretched a field, bordered on 
all sides by leafy shrubbery. This plot of ground 
was used by Mrs. Swift as a bleachery, and 
through her industry and carefulness she suc- 
ceeded in making her linen snow-white, so that all 
the housewives of that village and neighboring 
town brought her their linens to bleach. 

In this way Joseph Swift and his good little 
wife earned their daily bread and a little more 
to lay by for time of need. 

85 


86 VINEYARD ON THE HILLSIDE 


A big brown dog guarded the bleachery during 
the spring and summer months ; but in the early 
fall, when the grapes were ripening, he trans- 
ferred his attention to the vineyard. During the 
entire year, and particularly in the long winter 
months, the house was his particular care. 

The little family lived happily and contentedly 
in simplicity and love. These good people found 
their greatest joy and richest treasure upon earth 
in their five little children. The youngest was a 
baby, less than a year old. They trained them 
with the greatest care, and taught them to work 
and pray. The children had a living example of 
goodness and uprightness in their parents. This 
happy household, however, was soon to experience 
a great change. 

A cold, hard winter had set in and covered the 
fields and house-tops with many blankets of snow. 
The river had frozen ; and the people feared that 
when the ice-floes and the immense quantity of 
snow began to melt, the river would overflow its 
banks. 

Weeks passed and at last a thaw set in. The 
ice and snow began to melt. The brooks and rivu- 
lets swiftly carried the water to the great river. 

Joseph Swift and his family retired early one 
night, and lay wrapped in deep sleep. About mid- 
night, the father’s slumbers were broken by the 
tones of the village clock. As he became more and 
more awake, he heard a great splashing of water. 


MISSING 


87 


Hastily jumping out of his bed, he seized his 
clothing and rushed to find out the cause of the 
disturbance. But so much water had filled the 
hall that for a moment it seemed as if he could 
go no further. He managed, however, to push 
along. As he opened the door of the house, the 
water rushed in with such force and volume that 
it almost tore him from his footing. He sprang 
back into the bed-room and cried : 1 1 Oh, Caroline, 
Caroline, help me save our children ! ’ ’ 

Caroline, half awake, tumbled out of bed and 
wrapped a garment around each child. Then 
both parents made strides to reach the vineyard 
on the hill. 

The water rushed against them with such vio- 
lence that they nearly sank with their load. The 
night was dark, for the moon had long since gone 
under and heavy clouds obscured the stars. The 
rain was falling in torrents and a dreadful wind 
raged about them. The water so filled the streets 
and by-ways that the Swifts thought each moment 
would be their last. The children, half asleep, 
were crying loudly. From each house still louder 
cries reached their ears. 

In the distance, lamps began to flash their 
lights. Hundreds of people could be seen striving 
with all their might to reach the hill. On all sides 
difficulties and dangers confronted them. 

Near the low window of a little hut, there stood 
a weeping mother with her children. She passed 


88 VINEYARD ON THE HILLSIDE 


them, one after the other, to her husband, who 
stood in water up to his waist and could scarcely 
keep an upright position. 

In another place, grown sons were carrying 
an invalid mother, fleeing with difficulty on ac- 
count of their heavy burden. Some brave, humane 
men hurried along with boats and brought them 
safely to the hill. 

Mrs. Swift, with a child on each arm, was over- 
thrown. Her husband, equally burdened with two 
other children, could render her no assistance. 
Two stalwart men rushed toward her, however, 
and brought mother, children, and father to the 
neighboring hill. 

Some men gathered sticks, and after many 
futile attempts at last started a fire on the hill, 
so that the drenched people might dry themselves. 

As Mrs. Swift, breathless and in a half-dazed 
condition, reached the hill top, she looked at her 
children and uttered a loud cry: “ Where is my 
baby, where is my Edward V’ The child — the 
baby — who had lain in a cradle at the mother’s 
bedside, was missing. 

The water had rushed into the house in such 
volume that the cradle had begun to move, and 
was carried along gradually by the force of the 
water, till it passed out unnoticed through the 
open door. The mother had tried to reach the 
cradle in the darkness; but, not finding it, she 
had concluded that the father had taken the cradle 


MISSING 


89 


and the baby to a place of safety, and so she had 
given all her attention to the other children. But 
now, discovering her mistake, she wrung her 
hands in grief and cried pitifully. She started to 
return to her home to seize her child from so 
dreadful a fate, but the father held her in his 
strong arms. 

“Stay,” said he, “you could never reach our 
house safely. The water is rising too quickly 
and is too powerful. I will go and rescue our 
child. Our helpful neighbors will go with me.” 

“Yes, willingly,” said the two men who had 
just helped Mrs. Swift. 

Armed with long poles which they could thrust 
into the ground and with which they could steady 
themselves, they started forth by the light of a 
lantern. 

All the people on the hill watched those three 
men tremblingly. At last the light died away in 
the distance. Still they looked, although they 
could distinguish nothing. They only heard the 
dreadful rushing of the waters, the sighing of the 
winds, and from time to time the crash of a fall- 
ing house. 

Mrs. Swift waited with bated breath for the 
return of her husband and his faithful assistants. 
An hour had passed and nothing could be heard 
or seen of them. Her fears increased each mo- 
ment. At last the father returned, with saddened 
countenance. One of his assistants said: “It was 


90 VINEYARD ON THE HILLSIDE 


impossible to reach your house, my good woman ; 
the water was too deep. We were in water up 
to our necks and were almost drowned. ’ ’ 

Then the other man spoke up and said: 4 4 But 
don’t give up hope, for many brave men have 
been helping, all along the way. Before the water 
got the upper hand, they went about with lan- 
terns, rousing the people. Perhaps they have 
cared for the baby in its cradle.” 

Many people, laden with household goods, 
reached the hill from time to time, but the cradle 
never appeared and no one knew the whereabouts 
of the baby. 

After the dreadful night, the dawn at last broke 
forth; rain and storm subsided; the clouds rolled 
away and the morning sun streaked the horizon 
in flaming red. 

From the people gathered about the fire, there 
arose a dreadful cry of dismay. By the morning 
light, they saw that half of their village had been 
submerged. 

Mr. Swift ’s house, with many others, had been 
swept away by the flood. Many a house stood 
roofless and in a state of threatened collapse. 
People cried for the loss of their homes, but Mrs. 
Swift cried for the loss of her babe. 4 4 Though 
everything be gone,” said she, 44 I should care 
not, had I but my child.” Poor Mr. Swift, too, 
was more concerned about his baby than about 


MISSING 


91 


his other losses, and it was with a great effort 
that he controlled his feelings. 

The children lamented the loss of their brother 
as well as that of their big pet dog, Rover. 

Meanwhile, from the neighboring towns, many 
people had come in boats, brought the homeless 
ones provisions and clothing, and offered them 
shelter in their own homes. This was a great 
comfort for the unfortunates. 

Mr. Swift accepted their hospitality for that 
night. “To-morrow morning/ ’ said he, “I will 
try to reach my brother’s home, where I know I 
can be housed with my family until the spring. 
Then I will rebuild my home and help my neigh- 
bors build theirs. Let us not forget that if we 
faithfully do our best, God will not forsake us. 
Perhaps this calamity may in time bring us 
some blessing.” 


CHAPTER II 

THE FAITHFUL DOG 

Shortly after the Swifts fled, on the night of 
the flood, the walls of their house had fallen with 
a thud, and only the strong beams remained 
standing. By the time the house collapsed, the 
baby in its cradle had drifted many miles down 
the river, along the banks of which much damage 
had been wrought. The cradle passed a village 
which had been built on an eminence and had 
consequently escaped. 

The villagers who had gathered near the shore 
saw various household goods floating down the 
river ; there a table, here a chair, yonder a trunk, 
and in one place even the entire roof of a house. 

Two daring boys ventured to stand as near the 
water’s edge as possible, in order to see things 
a little better. All of a sudden one of the boys 
cried: “Oh, see, there is a cradle afloat in mid- 
stream ! 9 1 The other boy, whose sight was keener, 
shouted: “See, a dog is swimming after it and 
is trying to push it toward the shore ! 9 9 

Several strong men standing near-by had long 
hooked poles, and were busily engaged dragging 
things out of the river. One of them, a young 
92 


THE FAITHFUL DOG 


93 


fisherman, saw the cradle and cried: “A baby 
must be in that cradle, because the dog would 
not bother about an empty cradle. Up, brothers, 
up, let us try to save the child. Let not the fidel- 
ity and bravery of a dog put us to shame.” 

Notwithstanding the threatening danger of be- 
ing crushed to death by the rushing ice-floes, the 
men launched a boat and jumped into it. They 
reached the cradle and discovered the child in it. 
They placed cradle and babe in their boat and 
brought them safely to land. 

The people rushed forward and crowded around 
the cradle to look at the infant. Among the spec- 
tators were a gentleman and his wife, named 
Trent. 

‘ 1 Oh, what a beautiful child, ’ 9 cried Mrs. Trent, 
as she bent over the baby. “See how peacefully 
it sleeps, not knowing through what dangers it 
has passed, not dreaming it has been saved. ’ 9 

Mrs. Trent had lately lost a dear little baby, so 
she approached her husband and said: “Do see 
how this babe resembles our lost Isabel; and it 
seems to be of the same age. Let me take this 
child, and if its parents cannot be found, I will be 
a mother to it.” 

Mr. Trent smiled pleasantly, nodded his head 
and said: “Well, well, take it. Let us not be less 
sympathetic than these three men, and that pity- 
ing dog.” 


94 VINEYAED ON THE HILLSIDE 


By this time the poor dog had reached the shore, 
and stood shaking the water from his coat; so 
that the bystanders had to rush aside to escape a 
good wetting. Then he began to bark with joy 
and wag his tail, springing first at this one, then 
at that one, as if to express his thanks for the 
baby’s rescue. 

Mr. Trent noticed this, and said: “See how 
thankful this dog is, and human beings should 
never be less thankful . 9 9 He took some gold coins 
out of his pocket, and handed two to each of the 
three fishermen. They hesitated, not wishing to 
take the money. ‘ ‘ What we have done was purely 
out of love for humanity and without any thought 
of reward,” said they. 

Mr. Trent was pleased with them, and said: 
“Yes, I understand and realize how very noble it 
is of you to refuse a reward for your self-sacri- 
ficing services, but I must insist that you take it. ’ 9 

“Well, then,” said the younger fisherman, “we 
will accept the money and help our poor brothers 
in the neighboring villages who have suffered so 
many losses during this flood.” 

The dog had now passed through the crowd. 
His loud barks of joy had awakened the babe, and 
it started to cry. Mrs. Trent raised the child in 
her arms and kissed it. It looked about as if it 
were seeking something. 

“You are looking for your mother,” said she, 


THE FAITHFUL DOG 


95 


“but little do we know where she is. Cry not, 
my dear, I will he your mother.” 

She then carried it into her house, while the two 
fishermen followed with the cradle. The faithful 
dog did not wait for an invitation, but followed 
of his own accord. 


CHAPTER III 

THE FOND FOSTER-PARENTS 

Mrs. Trent hastily heated some milk, and with a 
small spoon she fed the foster-child. Then she 
dressed it in fine clothes which had belonged to 
Isabel, and brought it to Mr. Trent, saying: “See 
what a beautiful babe this is, with its golden, 
curly hair, blue eyes and red cheeks. How fresh 
and healthy it looks. But now we have a weighty 
matter to decide. We do not know the baby’s 
name and we must call it something. Let us take 
your name.” 

“Very well,” said Mr. Trent, “we will adopt 
him and call him Daniel Trent. That is a very 
nice name. As God saved Daniel out of the lion’s 
den, so He saved this child from a dreadful 
calamity. Let us hope that this boy will grow to 
be as sensible, with as much faith in God, and as 
obedient to God’s will, as young Daniel was.” 

“Let us hope it may be so,” said his wife, as 
she cast admiring glances upon the babe. 

The faithful dog who had accompanied her now 
rested for awhile, as he saw the babe in comfort 
and safety. After he had been fed and had 
stretched himself awhile before the fire, he sud- 
denly arose, shook himself well, and rushed out 
96 


THE FOND FOSTER-PARENTS 97 


of the house. As soon as he reached the water ’s 
edge, he swam across the river, ran hastily up on 
the opposite shore and was soon lost to view. 

“Have a care, my dear,” said her husband, “I 
fear you will soon lose your babe. I am sure the 
dog has gone in quest of the child ’s parents and 
will return here with them.” 

Mrs. Trent sighed. “Oh,” said she, “I under- 
stand how pained those people must be. For that 
reason, I would willingly restore the lost babe to 
its parents. Although it would be very hard for 
me to part with it.” 

After an absence of three days, just as Mr. and 
Mrs. Trent were seated at the fireside, the good, 
faithful dog rushed into their presence and 
greeted them by barking and joyfully wagging 
his tail. But in a few moments he hung his head, 
dropped his tail, and looked very sad; and from 
that moment on he showed no desire to leave the 
house. 

“From the dog’s manner,” said Mr. Trent, “I 
surmise that he was not successful in finding the 
baby’s parents, who were undoubtedly lost in the 
flood. Let us take good care of him, for he has 
so faithfully fulfilled his duty. We, too, have a 
duty to perform, for we must train and educate 
this child whom we have taken into our family.” 

Though the child’s position in life was now on 
a higher plane, yet his training was no different 
from that which his own parents would have given 


98 VINEYARD ON THE HILLSIDE 


him. His new parents worked hand in hand. 
Daniel soon felt a childish reverence for his foster- 
father, and toward his foster-mother he showed a 
trusting love. He grew to be a handsome boy, 
displaying many splendid talents. He was a dili- 
gent scholar and stood highest among his class- 
mates. He did everything in his power to give 
pleasure to his foster-parents. He regarded them 
as his true parents, for no one had told him other- 
wise. It had happened that when Daniel was two 
years old his foster-parents bought a house in 
another section of the country and moved into it. 
The new neighbors looked upon Daniel as the 
real son of Mr. and Mrs. Trent. 


CHAPTER IV 


THE ERRAND 

When Daniel Trent had reached his fourteenth 
year, he was able to assist his foster-father in his 
business. He wrote a fine hand, did much of his 
‘ ‘ father ’s” clerical work, and carried out all 
orders with exactness. 

One evening he was sent oiit on an errand to a 
little village on the Rhine, not far from where 
they now resided. Daniel was pleased at the 
prospect of a long walk in the cool evening air. 
His good dog, who was still living and in fairly 
good condition for his age, accompanied him. 

Just as Daniel ’s business had been transacted, 
a ship came into port. The passengers crowded 
the gang plank and the wharf. Several boys and 
young men pressed forward and offered to show 
the travellers the way and to carry their baggage. 

At last a little boy addressed a refined, though 
shabbily dressed old man, and asked if he could 
direct him to a hotel. 

“Oh, no,” said the old man, “I will remain on 
shipboard over night ; I couldn ’t pay the price of 
a room in a hotel. My meal will be a sandwich 
that I have in this bag; and as for a drink, a glass 
of fresh water will appease my thirst.” 

99 


100 VINEYARD ON THE HILLSIDE 


Daniel listened with sympathy to the old man, 
who had an honest kind look. Timidly moving a 
little closer to him, he said, while his face grew 
red: i 1 If yon would not feel offended, I should 
like to give you a little money, out of my 
allowance. ’ ’ 

‘ i My dear young man, ’ ’ said the traveller, ‘ 4 true 
it is that I have never accepted charity, but I must 
admit, you have offered it to me in such a friendly, 
well-meaning manner that I would gladly accept 
it, if I could; I thank you heartily for it. May 
your kind thoughtfulness be rewarded/ ’ 

The dog, who in the meantime had hurried to 
the water’s edge to quench his thirst, hastily re- 
turned, just as Daniel was about to continue his 
way. The next minute, he was leaping and 
springing and barking, as loudly as he could, and 
showing unbounded joy. The traveller cried out 
in astonishment: 4 4 My dog, you are my Rover. 
Do I find you again, after so many years? How 
did you get here ? 9 9 

Daniel looked surprised and said: “It seems 
that the dog knows you very well. Did he ever 
belong to you ? 9 9 

“Yes, truly,” said the man, “but I thought he 
was drowned thirteen years ago, when the Rhine 
overflowed and carried my house with it. I never 
expected to see my dog again. — But,” said he, as 
he dried his eyes, “I sustained at that time a 
greater loss than could ever be retrieved.” 


THE ERRAND 


101 


4 ‘What was that?” asked Daniel. 

Then the old man told the tale of the flood and 
said that, in the darkness of the night, and in the 
great hurry and excitement, his youngest child, a 
babe, had been left lying in its cradle. Perhaps 
it had been crushed to death by the collapsing 
walls of his house and been buried in the waters 
of the river. 

Daniel was deeply moved by the sad fate of 
this babe. Little did he dream that he was the 
child whom he was pitying. He tried to comfort 
the old man over the loss of the infant. 

The old man then said, “I have learned to ac- 
cept my grief, as having been sent from God. In 
the end He will prove to each life that what is 
sent is for the best.” 

Daniel agreed with him, and offered him his 
hand in friendship. Then he bade him good-bye, 
saying that the lateness of the hour was the cause 
of his haste. 

Daniel walked on and called his dog. The faith- 
ful Rover did not wish to forsake his long-lost 
and newly-found master, but neither did he wish 
to lose Daniel. He would hurry ahead and stand 
in front of Daniel, barring the way, as if he 
wished to stay him, and then he would run back 
to the old man. 

Daniel at last stood still. The dog lay down 
between them and looked appealingly, first at one 
and then at the other, as if he wished to beg them 


102 VINEYARD ON THE HILLSIDE 


to remain together. Again Daniel started, but 
the dog went through the same antics. A half 
hour passed in this way. At last Daniel said : “I 
really don’t know what to do. I love this dog, 
but I would like you to have him, too; but I can’t 
let you take him, for he belongs to my father. 
Come with me, and let him decide who shall have 
the dog.” 

They walked together along the lamp-lighted 
streets, and the happy dog, with leaps and barks, 
gave evidence of his great joy. 


CHAPTER V 

THE OLD MAN 

Mr. Trent and his wife had delayed the evening 
meal, awaiting Daniel’s return. Daniel led the 
strange man into the dining-room, where the table 
was spread with a beautiful white cloth, relieved 
by polished silver and food temptingly arranged. 
It was a welcome sight to the travel-weary old 
man. 

Mr. Trent was about to reprimand his son for 
his belated return, but he hesitated at the sight of 
the stranger. Daniel related the incidents of the 
evening, and they amply served to excuse him for 
his tardiness. Mr. Trent then asked the old man 
what he knew about the dog. 

Mr. Swift related at length the same story that 
he had told Daniel ; and added that his losses were 
great, but that the loss of his baby boy had given 
him the greatest pain in his life. 

Mr. Trent and his wife both came to the con- 
clusion, in a flash, that the babe which they had 
adopted was most assuredly this man’s son. Mr. 
Trent, a clever, as well as a careful man, wished 
to probe the matter to his entire satisfaction, so 
he dismissed Daniel on some errand. Then he 
questioned the stranger, as to his name, his place 
103 


104 VINEYARD ON THE HILLSIDE 


of residence, the year and the month and all cir- 
cumstances surrounding that dreadful night, in 
minutest detail. 

“Tell me,” said he, “did your dog wear a 
collar?” 

“0 yes,” said the old man, “it was made of red 
leather, and engraved on a metal plate was his 
name Rover, and the letters J. M. S., which stand 
for my name, Joseph Martin Swift.” 

“Now,” said Mrs. Trent, “will you describe 
the cradle?” 

“Very well,” said the man, “it was made of 
pine wood. The body was painted blue and it had 
a red canopy.” 

Mr. and Mrs. Trent looked deeply into the old 
man’s eyes, and found in his face, looking through 
the wrinkles which deep sorrow and care had 
chiseled there, a remarkable resemblance to their 
adopted son. 

“I have no further doubt,” said Mr. Trent, 
“that the son who thirteen years ago, as a tender 
babe, floated in its cradle down the Rhine, was 
saved from the flood, and lives today.” 

“How, what?” cried the man in joyful astonish- 
ment. ‘ 4 Oh, where is he ? Where is he ? Lead me 
to him at once.” 

“You have already seen him,” said Mr. Trent. 
“The young man who brought you here is your 
son.” 

“What?” cried the old man, “that handsome 


THE OLD MAN 


105 


young lad. Could it be possible? Oh, how 
miraculous ! ’ 9 He folded his hands and stood in 
silence, till his overwrought feelings broke forth 
in a torrent of tears. At last he said : 4 4 How was 
he saved ? How did he reach this house and these 
good circumstances ? ’ 9 

Mr. Trent related everything in a few words: 
how the faithfulness of the dog had been the first 
means toward the rescue of the infant. “We took 
your child, adopted him and brought him up. He 
always behaved well and has given us great joy. 
As we did not know his name, we had him renamed 
Daniel. We never let him know that he was not 
our own child. We must now disclose this fact to 
him. I hear him coming and will ask you to 
withdraw to the next room until you recover your- 
self. ’ 9 

1 ‘ Thank you, ’ 9 said the highly elated father, ‘ ‘ 1 
should like to be alone for a few moments, that I 
may offer my thanks for this great goodness. 

By this time Daniel had reached the dining- 
room. As he missed the stranger, but still saw 
the dog, he asked: “Well, my dear father, did 
you satisfy the old man?” 

“My dear boy, come seat yourself beside me, 
for I have something to say to you. We, whom 
you have always considered as father and mother, 
are not your parents.” 

Daniel was greatly disturbed by this news and 


106 VINEYARD ON THE HILLSIDE 


could scarcely speak. At last he said : ‘ ‘ Oh, my 
dear parents, what great good you have always 
rendered me. How deep has been your love to 
me. All the rest of my life I will thank you. But, 
how is it that you only now divulge this great 
secret? You do not intend to cast me out, I 
hope ? ’ ’ 

“Certainly not, my dear Daniel / 9 said Mr. 
Trent, “but listen further. You are the child that 
was rescued from the river, and the stranger 
whom you brought here is your father. ’ ’ 

“This man!” cried Daniel in astonishment; 
“yet he appears to me to be a good, honest man.” 

Then Mr. Trent continued, in order to test 
Daniel, and said: “That may be! But he is so 
poor, while you are now so rich. You don’t need 
him. Besides, in his poor clothes, he would not 
be any credit to you. So I thought I would give 
him a sum of money, and send him back to his 
village . 9 9 

“Oh, no,” cried Daniel, springing from his 
chair. “I hope you have not already sent him to 
the ship. If so, let me hurry after him. I must 
see my father’s face again and embrace him. I 
trust you did not mean what you said. Were 
my father the poorest and most unfortunate man 
in the whole world, I would not be ashamed of 
him, for he is my father. Everything that I have, 
I would share with him. ’ ’ 


THE OLD MAN 


107 


Daniel ’s own father had heard these words, in 
the adjoining room. He stepped forward, rushed 
upon Daniel, and cried: “My son!” and Daniel 
cried : 1 i My father ! ’ ’ They embraced each other 
and their tears fell freely. 


CHAPTER VI 

THE LEGACY 

Mrs. Trent now invited all to partake of the 
evening meal. The conversation became animated, 
and Mr. Trent was happy to find that his guest 
was such a sensible, honest man. He then asked 
him how he happened to take such a long trip. 

Joseph Swift said that a legacy had been be- 
queathed to him, and that he was on his way to a 
distant city to claim it. He had stopped at the 
near-by port in order to break the monotony of 
the journey. “Before the disaster that befell 
me,” continued he, “I lived in comparative com- 
fort, but ever since I have been struggling. I 
was obliged to begin all over again and build a 
new house and start a new business. You can 
easily understand that I soon fell behind in money 
matters. The news of this legacy was very wel- 
come, for every little helps. Some difficulty, how- 
ever, has arisen, so I decided to go personally; 
and whether I shall get the money or not, remains 
to be seen.” 

“I trust you have all the necessary papers 
and credentials with you.” 

“0 yes,” said Joseph, drawing out a wallet con- 
taining the papers, in order to prove his words. 

108 


THE LEGACY 


109 


Mr. Trent looked them over and found them cor- 
rect, but conjectured that the outcome would be 
somewhat doubtful. Besides, when he took into 
consideration the cost of the journey, living ex- 
penses, the cost of the trial, he found that very 
little would remain of the legacy ofter all. 

Mr. Trent, who was as noble as he was rich, 
said: “Do you know what I think, my dear 
friend? The rest of this journey would be very 
tiresome for you ; and besides, you would have to 
remain there for some time before you could claim 
the money. I will give you the sum stated, and 
you can give me a power of attorney so that I can 
get the money. I can then instruct my business 
manager in that city to look after this matter for 
me.” 

Joseph Swift was delighted with the proposi- 
tion, and took the proffered money with the 
heartiest thanks; although he did not realize to 
its full extent the thoughtfulness of this act. 

Mrs. Trent, who was as kind-hearted as her 
husband, inquired after the other members of Mr. 
Swift’s family, and then said: “Now that you 
have been spared the weariness of the rest of the 
journey, I beg you to spend a week with us. Then 
Daniel may escort you home, and remain a few 
days with you, and have the pleasure of meeting 
his mother and sisters and brothers face to face.” 

Joseph declared that he had never met such 


110 VINEYARD ON THE HILLSIDE 


good people, in all his life and Daniel was over- 
joyed in the anticipation of seeing his mother. 

“I feel I mnst give my mother and my sisters 
each a gift, ’ ’ said he. ‘ ‘ How pleased I am that I 
saved my. money. Now I can use it for a good 
purpose.” 

Early the next morning, Mrs. Trent and Daniel 
went forth to purchase the gifts, and many a 
beautiful present did they bring back. Turning 
to Mr. Swift, she said: “Here is a handsome 
gold watch which Daniel bought for you, and also 
the material for a new suit of clothes. I have 
ordered the tailor to come and take your measure- 
ments, and he promised to deliver the suit in a 
week. ’ ’ 

Poor Mr. Swift could hardly find words to ex- 
press the thanks that filled his heart. 

But Mr. Trent, noticing his deep emotion, said : 
“Never mind, Mr. Swift, let it be so. Why would 
God give some people more than they need, unless 
he intended they should give some of it to those 
who didn’t have enough? Sharing with others, 
brings us happiness.” 


CHAPTER VII 

THE JOURNEY 

Early the following week Daniel and his father 
started on their journey. The dog accompanied 
them and sat on the front seat of the carriage, 
next to the driver. 

As Mr. Swift neared his home, the linen lying 
in the bleachery was plainly discernible, and the 
dog, recognizing the locality, leaped out of the 
carriage. Mrs. Swift and her daughters were 
wetting the linens and the two boys were busy in 
the vineyard. The dog ran up to his old mistress, 
sprang at her joyously, and then ran to her 
daughters. They were much surprised to see the 
dog that they had thought dead. The sons joined 
the group, and while they stood discussing the 
dog’s return, they heard the toot of the tally-ho 
horn. Suddenly the horses galloped up to the 
door and halted. 

Said Mrs. Swift, “What can this mean! The 
driver must have made a mistake.” But in an 
instant Mr. Swift alighted and greeted his family 
warmly. 

Mrs. Swift’s expression was very grave as 
she said: “What ever possessed you to return in 
such a carriage ; and now that I look at you, I see 
ill 


112 VINEYARD ON THE HILLSIDE 


you are dressed in new clothes from head to foot. 
Even the dog, for which I suppose you paid a 
good price, has a new collar. I always looked 
upon you as a better business man than that. I 
fear now that nothing remains of the legacy. 
Most likely you lost your senses when you saw 
so much money. If you begin by spending it so 
lavishly it will soon be gone . 9 9 

Mr. Swift laughingly replied: “Don’t be so 
sure, my dear. Let me unpack the things. You 
will see that not a penny of the legacy is missing. ’ 9 
He opened the trunk which the coachman had just 
brought in, took out a bag, and shook the golden 
contents upon the table. 

“Oh, my,” cried his wife in glee, “so much 
money ! I never saw that much in all my life. It 
dazzles me. It seems as if I were dreaming — But, 
tell me, where did you get the clothing ? ’ ’ 

“0, never mind, just yet; I haven’t shown you 
all, for I have brought material for new suits for 
you and all the children. ’ ’ He laid out the goods, 
the velvets, and the laces upon the table, which 
was scarcely big enough to hold them all. 

‘ ‘ This is too much. My reason actually refuses 
to take it in. Do tell me, how did you get these 
costly things?” continued his wife. 

“All these things, my dear wife, have been 
presented to you by my fellow-passenger,” point- 
ing his finger at Daniel, who had kept somewhat 
aloof. 



“As I notice it now you are dressed in new clothes from 
head to foot.” 








THE JOURNEY 


113 


Mother and children had scarcely noticed him 
in their happiness, but all the while Daniel had 
been enjoying their rapture. 

The mother looked sharply at Daniel and said: 
“This young man brings us all these things ! Well, 
who is he?” 

Mr. Swift bent his head and folded his hands ; 
then he spoke with devout earnestness: “This 
friendly young man is your son, our child, whom 
we mourned as dead. A rich merchant and his 
good wife took him into their home and heart. * ’ 

Daniel could no longer restrain himself. He 
fell on the neck of his new-found mother and em- 
braced her tenderly. Then he greeted his brothers 
and sisters heartily. The ecstacy of moments like 
these is indescribable. 

At first, a little shyness existed between the 
brothers and sisters and this long-lost brother. 
But as he was entirely without vanity and modest 
and friendly, he soon won their confidence and re- 
spect, and they conversed with him as naturally 
as if they had been with him always. 

One morning the family mounted the hill to 
show Daniel the spot where they had spent the 
night of terror. 

“Yes,” said the father, “in the morning light, 
we found that our house had been swept away. 
In the face of all that disaster, I remember saying : 
‘This dreadful calamity will yet bring us some 
blessing/ and so it has happened. The people in 


114 VINEYARD ON THE HILLSIDE 


the whole country around became more industri- 
ous than they had been in the time of their pros- 
perity. Many who had been haughty and extrav- 
agant became humble, thrifty and moderate. God 
awoke many people to the performance of good 
deeds. Many a family quarrel was terminated; 
all the people became peace loving; each helped 
the other in the hour of need. 

4 ‘Who would have believed that we would again 
see our beloved child? Who would have thought 
it possible that we, who once spent on this hill the 
worst night of our lives, would live to spend upon 
it the happiest day. Let us learn not to give up 
hope, no matter how bad the prospect may seem, 
for better times will come — God will make all 
things right at last.” 

In the course of time, when Mr. Trent knew to 
a certainty of Mr. Swift’s honesty, he gave him 
the position of treasurer in his large business 
enterprises. This position was accepted, and Mr. 
Swift transferred his bleachery and vineyard to 
the care of his eldest son. With his wife and the 
other members of his family he then moved to 
a house adjacent to the Trents. 

Daniel became his foster-father’s assistant, and 
proved himself worthy of all the care which had 
been bestowed upon him ; and he remained a good, 
true, helpful son to his own and his foster-parents. 



THE DAMAGED PICTURE 

CHAPTERS. 

I. The Artist. 

II. The Picture. 


III. The Discovery. 










THE DAMAGED PICTURE 

CHAPTER I 

THE ARTIST 

If one had been seeking for a man who com- 
bined all the qualities of goodness and greatness, 
one would have chosen artist Laurier. He bore 
the title of “ Master of Arts” and his works, 
mostly landscapes, were famous far and wide. 
He had amassed a considerable fortune, and his 
house was the handsomest building in the city, 
equipped with every luxury. Besides, it was the 
home in which all artists, rich or poor, found wel- 
come at all times. 

But conditions changed. Hard times, following 
quickly in the wake of recent wars, had made the 
demand for art, particularly painting, less and 
less urgent, till there was no market whatever 
for the artist’s works. Little by little, he had to 
draw upon his capital in order to support his 
family. However, he continued to paint with un- 
abated diligence, for he hoped with the betterment 
of the times to sell his paintings ; or if he should 
not be permitted to live so long, he would leave 
them as a heritage, for the benefit of his wife and 
children. 


117 


118 


THE DAMAGED PICTUKE 


Alas, the great man did not live to carry out 
his purpose. A contagious disease swept over 
the country, numbering him among its victims; 
and he intuitively felt that he would never again 
rise from his sick bed. 

One morning, following a night filled with great 
pain and misgivings, his dutiful wife was seated 
at his bedside trying to cloak the great sorrow 
which she felt at his approaching death. His two 
little daughters stood at the foot of his bed. The 
dying man looked tenderly at his wife and child- 
ren, and said: “Be comforted and weep not. 
True, I can bequeath you but little ; but God, the 
Father of the widow and orphans, will watch over 
you.” He then invoked God’s blessing upon them, 
and with his last breath said, “In heaven we shall 
meet again.” His eyes closed and he passed out 
of this life. Mother and daughters stood con- 
vulsed in tears. 

The widow now found herself in very straight- 
ened circumstances. Her house was so heavily 
mortgaged that she could no longer hold it. The 
pictures which her husband had bequeathed to her 
were valuable as works of art, but the widow 
could not realize their worth in money. Soon it 
became imperative to sell them at auction, at any 
price. Before the day set for the sale, mother 
and daughters saw, with anguish, these works hur- 
ried off to the auction room. The house, too, fell 
under the hammer. The poor, miserable family 


THE ARTIST 


119 


left the home in which they had lived for many 
years in love, peace and contentment. Still, a 
certain pride and satisfaction filled the widow’s 
heart when she realized that, though her husband 
had died poor, yet he owed no one a penny — that 
his name stood in the community respected and 
revered by all the good people. The poor parti- 
cularly held him in loving memory. 

The widow was obliged to seek a new home in a 
cheap section of the city. She was an expert in 
all household arts, particularly in the art of 
sewing. Each night found the widow busily en- 
gaged with her work, the proceeds of which kept 
the wolf from the door. 

Her two daughters, whom she had brought up 
with the utmost care, were her only joy. They 
grew into beautiful girlhood, were modest and 
good, and loved their mother with all the tender- 
ness of devoted childhood. They, too, helped with 
the sewing; and their combined efforts, though 
feeble, were not without visible returns. 

Mother and daughters often talked about their 
departed father. “It gives me great pain,” said 
the mother, 6 1 that every picture which your father 
painted should have been taken from us. If it 
were but a little landscape that we possessed, how 
happy I should be. It would enrich our otherwise 
barren home and make it equal to the most beauti- 
ful salon of the grandest castle.” 

Mother and daughters rarely went anywhere, 


120 


THE DAMAGED PICTURE 


but every Sunday found them attendants at a 
church at the other end of the city. There, on 
those sacred walls, hung a beautiful painting ex- 
ecuted by their father. 4 1 This indeed is exquisite 
work,” said the mother, and the children fully 
agreed with her sentiments. 

When the services were ended they all slowly 
wended their way through the city to their modest 
home. Sunday after Sunday, rain or shine, found 
them carrying out the same program, always re- 
turning with hearts filled with reverence and 
peace. 

The long, weary winter nights were passed 
reading the books which their father had collected 
during his lifetime, and which, by the merest 
accident, had not been disposed of. 

Thus they passed their days, quietly and con- 
tentedly, each one cheerfully doing her daily share 
of good deeds and good works in this great vine- 
yard of the world, where we have all been placed 
to do our best. 


CHAPTER II 

THE PICTURE 

One day, as the mother was examining the ap- 
parel, she turned to her daughters and said: 
“ Children, I see that your summer frocks are 
really very much worn and faded. As we have 
saved a little more than we expected, I feel that I 
want to reward you for your diligence and will- 
ingness in helping me so faithfully and uncom- 
plainingly, by giving you each some money, with 
which to buy material for a few new dresses.” 
She then handed each daughter a hard-earned ten 
dollar bill, and said : “ Select what you wish, and 
we can make the dresses ourselves.” 

Both daughters were elated with this generous 
gift ; and at once began to argue with each other 
as to the shade and material which would be most 
desirable, and which would also be most durable, 
from an economical standpoint. At last they 
started out to make the purchases. Soon they 
found themselves before a massive building, upon 
which was placed a sign : “Auction Sale of Paint- 
ings.” Both girls, as an artist’s daughters, had 
an inherited love for pictures. 

“Shall we go in?” said Lottie, the elder, to 
Louise — “Not to buy, of course; for how could we 
121 


122 


THE DAMAGED PICTURE 


do that ? But just to look at the beautiful works. ’ ’ 

They stepped timidly and modestly into the 
great gallery where several gentlemen and many 
richly gowned ladies had already assembled. Lot- 
tie and Louise remained unnoticed, standing not 
far from the door. 

The auctioneer just then raised a picture to 
view, and cried: “A landscape, in a handsome 
gold frame, by the artist Laurier — ten dollars for 
the first bid.” 

“Hm,” said a portly gentleman, “this picture 
was certainly executed more hastily than any of 
his other works. It lacks a certain finish. How- 
ever, I’m an ardent admirer of Laurier. I bid 
fifteen dollars.” 

The children had forgotten all about their 
dresses, and after a moment’s whispering and 
hesitation, Lottie called out with a beating heart 
and trembling voice : ‘ ‘ Seventeen dollars ! ’ ’ 

Several of the ladies and gentlemen turned to 
see where this gentle, timid voice had come from, 
and noticed the poorly clad children standing so 
far back that they could scarcely see the picture. 
When the children became conscious of the many 
eyes fastened upon them, they turned pale. The 
portly gentleman, without taking any notice of 
them, continued: “I give nineteen dollars.” 

Then Lottie said, timidly and almost inaudibly, 
“Twenty dollars.” 

‘ 4 Oh, those dear children, ’ ’ said a friendly lady, 


THE PICTURE 


123 


“they are the artist’s daughters; let us hid no 
higher, so the picture may he theirs ! ’ ’ 

Everyone was deeply affected, praised the de- 
ceased artist and father, and respected the love 
of his daughters. 

Then the auctioneer went on calling, “twenty 
dollars once — twice — for the third and last time . 9 9 
He then summoned Lottie, the purchaser, to take 
the picture. 

Lottie stepped forward to the long table, and 
laid upon it the two ten dollar bills which her 
mother had given her. 

“You have made a good purchase, my child / 9 
said the portly gentleman, 1 ‘ and were you not the 
daughter of the artist, I would not have let you 
outbid me.” 

The assembled people wished the children luck ; 
and taking the picture, which was not large, both 
sisters hurried out of the gallery. 

“0 mother,” they cried, as they entered the 
neat little living room of their home, “we have 
had great good luck. The wish you have so long 
expressed is at last fulfilled. See, here is a picture 
painted by our beloved father . 9 9 

The mother looked at it for a long time in deep 
silence, and at last broke forth in tears of joy and 
homesick longing. 

“Yes,” said she, “the picture is his, though I 
cannot remember ever having seen him work at it. 
But I know his art, his beautiful thoughts and his 


124 


THE DAMAGED PICTURE 


delicate colorings. It is an exquisite landscape. 
Notice the evening glow over the wooded hill, be- 
hind which the sun has just disappeared ; the huts, 
from whose chimneys the light-blue smoke 
ascends; the distant village, with the old church 
tower which the last rays of the declining sun 
still illumine; and the rosy, hazy light which 
spreads over all. It is beautiful beyond descrip- 
tion, and stirs within me memories of the past. 
Such scenes have I ofttimes viewed in company 
with your father. But how did you ever get this 
picture ? ’ ’ 

Lottie related the incidents leading up to its 
purchase, and said: “ Louise and I are perfectly 
willing to wear our old clothes.” 

u We certainly have a treasure in the house now, 
in comparison with which all the grandeur of the 
world counts as nothing , ’ 9 said the mother. “You 
are, indeed, good children, and I appreciate your 
self-sacrificing spirit. I consider that more ac- 
ceptable than a great collection of paintings. The 
love which you have shown for your departed 
father and for me affords me unbounded joy. 
Come now, let us hang the picture at once.” 

Often all three would stand before the painting 
and gather from it such joy and strength that the 
work of the day seemed lightened and brightened. 

“When you study with exactness the details of 
a beautiful landscape,” said the mother, “you 


THE PICTURE 


125 


will find more and more to admire at each view. 
So it is with reading. We learn much that may 
befall us in life from books, and by thinking and 
reviewing the good and the beautiful in the lives 
of others we may better know how to act under 
the changing scenes of life. y J 


CHAPTER III 

THE DISCOVERY 

With the returning spring, the mother received 
an urgent letter from her best friend, a widow, 
who lived in the country. This friend had been 
seriously ill for some time, and her life was 
despaired of. She was particularly desirous of 
seeing Mrs. Laurier about making a few final ar- 
rangements. 

The mother made hasty preparations, and at 
break of day started on her journey, her two 
daughters accompanying her a short distance 
from the house. 

The mother gave them a parting injunction to 
work diligently and to remain at home. “Within 
two or three days, I shall return,’ ’ she said. “I 
know that my friend has much to tell me, and will 
not hear of my going sooner. Behave yourselves 
in such a manner that when I return, I may be 
so pleased with your conduct that my troubles will 
be the lighter to bear.” 

As the two girls returned to the house, Lottie 
said to her sister: “Do you know, dear Louise, 
our rooms have become somewhat dingy during 
our stay here. Let us, while mother is absent, 
have them painted. We could launder the cur- 
126 


THE DISCOVERY 


127 


tains and polish the floors. These bright spring 
days seem to demand it. Then, when mother re- 
turns, steps into the house, and sees its whitened 
walls, its beautiful fresh draperies and its bright- 
ened aspect, what a pleasure it will give her. 
What do you think about it?” 

Louise clapped her hands in joy, and said: 
“You always have the cleverest ideas. Yes, let 
us send for the painter at once.” 

The girls then worked industriously for two 
days, and everything seemed to glide along 
swiftly and entirely to their satisfaction. 

On the morning of the third day, Lottie said: 
“Everything is now in readiness, and I will 
hasten to the market and order some things, so 
that we may provide a good dinner for our mother 
when she returns this evening.” 

1 ‘ That is wise, ’ ’ said Louise, as she helped Lot- 
tie put on her coat. 

When Lottie returned after an hour’s absence, 
Louise rushed up to her with red-rimmed eyes, 
and cried: “Oh, Lottie, I have met with a great 
misfortune. Through ignorance, I damaged the 
beautiful painting. Come quickly and see it.” 

Lottie looked at the picture, in horror. 

“Oh,” said Louise, “it seemed somewhat dusty 
to me, and I tried to wash it off with soap and 
water. But, not until it was too late, did I notice 
that the colors ran together and the beautiful 
painting was completely ruined . 9 9 


128 


THE DAMAGED PICTURE 


6 ‘ Completely V ’ said Lottie, and began to cry. 
But, in order to reassure her sister, she said, 
“Perhaps it may yet be restored by some good 
artist / 9 

As the two girls sat conferring as to the best 
method to pursue, the mother stepped into the 
house. She was exceedingly delighted to find 
her home in such exquisite order and newness. 
“You certainly are very dutiful children. But 
what is troubling you? What has happened that 
I find you both in tears ? ’ 9 

“Oh,” cried Louise, “just look at the painting. 
I wanted to clean it. I meant well, but met with 
such disappointment. Forgive me, forgive me!” 
and she fell at her mother’s feet. 

The mother was greatly agitated, as she gazed 
at the painting. She paled and trembled. ‘ ‘ This 
misfortune is indeed pitiable,” said she. “You 
know not how much I would give had it not oc- 
curred.” She drew on her glasses and viewed 
the damaged picture scrutinizingly. “The col- 
ors,” said she, “were but water-colors, and that 
is why they were so easily blurred. But, it is 
peculiar. I see, under these water-colors, a 
ground work of oil paint, and there, I see a little 
finger, most assuredly painted by a master. What 
shall I do? I will dare, as long as the picture is 
damaged and past restoration, to wash it off en- 
tirely. ’ ’ 

The mother then took a big sponge and delib- 


THE DISCOVERY 


129 


erately began to wash the painting. A hand, an 
arm, an angel ’s form appeared to view, such as 
only the greatest master could portray. Though 
the mother hated to destroy the work of her be- 
loved husband, yet she worked assiduously to re- 
move all the water-colors, and lo! a painting of 
extraordinary beauty and genius met her admir- 
ing gaze. 

It was an historical picture of ancient times. 
The figures stood forth in living beauty and 
seemed to speak from out the canvas. 

“If I see rightly/’ said the mother, 4 ‘this is 
a painting by an old master. On a journey, which 
I once took with your departed father, I saw 
many paintings by this same artist. But this 
painting, unless I am very much mistaken, is 
classed among his best productions. It is one of 
the finest in art. Nothing in this picture is with- 
out purpose and shows the stroke of a genius.” 

“I must seek advice from Mr. Raymond — an 
old, true friend of your dear father. He is a con- 
noisseur on works of art.” So she hurriedly 
donned her cape and hastened to his house. 

The venerable gentleman was only too glad to 
welcome her to his home. He had scarcely looked 
at the picture, when he cried in astonishment: 
“Yes, truly, this painting is by one of the earliest 
Italian masters. It is exquisite and sublime. 
And now it dawns on me how this beautiful work 
came to be hidden by the brush of another artist. 


130 


THE DAMAGED PICTURE 


“During the late war, as the besiegers were 
drawing nearer and nearer a certain castle, the 
owner had his paintings and works of art con- 
cealed in the cellar. 

“As this picture, however, was the most valu- 
able and the choicest of his wonderful collection, 
he could not for one moment think of parting with 
it. So he sent for your worthy husband to paint a 
picture over it in water-colors, which could he 
easily removed, and yet serve to conceal the pic- 
ture ’s real value. In this way, he hoped to save 
it from the hands of the besiegers.” 

1 i However, he did not live to see the war ended, 
and your dear husband passed away also. This 
twice painted picture could have remained for- 
ever undiscovered, but it has been destined other- 
wise. A wonderful treasure has been sent to 
save you and your children from all future want. 
It only now depends upon finding a lover of pic- 
tures, and an admirer of genius, who will pay the 
full value for this work of art . 9 9 

“But,” said the good woman, “can I with a 
clear conscience keep in my possession so valu- 
able a picture, for which we paid but such a trifling 
sum of money V 9 

“Of course you can, and no person can dispute 
your right to it. The owner of this picture was 
a noble, right-living man, whom I knew well. He 
had no relatives and did much good to the poor. 
For himself he needed but little. His only pleas- 


THE DISCOVERY 


131 


ure in life was buying the paintings by the old 
masters. Little by little, he collected quite a gal- 
lery. This constituted his entire fortune. After 
his death, the pictures which had been concealed 
in his home were brought forth and were sold, 
together with this beautiful one. The late mer- 
chant, Mr. Pinole, purchased most of them. ’ ’ 

“If you take my advice, I would suggest that 
you advertise in the daily papers the fact that you 
have this beautiful picture for sale. Then a pur- 
chaser will surely present himself who will pay 
you its value/ ’ 

Mrs. Laurier then asked him to undertake this 
responsibility, to which he kindly acceded. 

Soon the whole city was aware of Mrs. Lau- 
rier ’s wonderful possession, and people were 
filled with astonishment. Mr. Pinole’s son, at 
whose salesroom the picture had been sold at 
auction, hastened to Mrs. Laurier ’s house. 

He had, he said, not only received less than half 
his due, but the picture was worth a thousand 
times more than she had paid for it. As she made 
no attempt whatever to return the picture to him, 
he left her presence in rage, and determined to 
sue her at once. 

When he presented the case to his lawyer, the 
latter explained that as the picture had been sold 
at public auction, he could do nothing about it. 
i 1 Besides, ’ ’ said the lawyer, laughingly, ‘ 4 remem- 
ber, your father paid still less for it.” 


132 


THE DAMAGED PICTURE 


Disappointed and chagrined, Mr. Pinole re- 
turned to his home. 

Through the untiring efforts of Mr. Raymond, 
the picture was at last sold to a wealthy gentle- 
man, who paid a high price for it. 

The money which Mrs. Laurier realized from 
this sale enabled her to live with her two daugh- 
ters in comparative ease and comfort. The two 
girls soon married well-to-do merchants, who 
succeeded in purchasing Mrs. Laurier ’s for- 
mer house, which happened just then to be on 
sale. It was large and sufficiently commodious 
to admit of the two families occupying it. The 
best room in the house was accorded to Mrs. 
Laurier. 

The families lived together harmoniously, and 
vied with each other to brighten the declining 
years of the mother’s peaceful life. 


MEMORIES AWAKENED 


CHAPTERS. 

I. The Change of Circumstances. 


II. The Revelation. 



if**** 




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w* t ■•* m 



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“This brave boy and this blind man. 




MEMORIES AWAKENED 

CHAPTER I 

THE CHANGE OF CIRCUMSTANCES 

A very wealthy and worthy merchant, named 
Vollmar, lived in a large commercial city. Here 
he carried on a prosperous business which had 
descended to him from his father. By clever 
management, industry and honesty, he succeeded 
in enlarging it, and thereby increased his wealth. 

Up to the present time, Mr. Vollmar had had 
unusual success, but circumstances were soon to 
change. One morning as the family was break- 
fasting, the postman delivered a letter containing 
the information that the ship which carried a val- 
uable cargo belonging to Mr. Vollmar had been 
lost at sea. 

This was a severe blow ; for the greater part of 
his fortune was now gone. But as luck and riches 
had not made him proud, so this misfortune and 
loss did not make him despondent. 

Turning to his children, he said: “God gives 
and He also takes away. He may restore all 
things unto us when His wise purposes have been 
fulfilled. You can see that this is true, when you 
review the lives of your grandparents and great- 
135 


136 


MEMOBIES AWAKENED 


grandparents, whose pictures in the golden 
frames grace this room so beautifully. 

1 ‘ Your great-grandfather, Lucas Vollmar, was 
the richest man in the city. All that we once had 
and now have would not have equalled his for- 
tune by one quarter. Owing to the ‘ Thirty Years’ 
War,’ he lost all. He was obliged to flee from the 
enemy. His wife did not survive the journey. 
Their only son, my father, was then but a tender 
youth, and suffered much during those troublous 
times. 

‘ ‘ Soon this city was invaded by the enemy and 
plundered. Many bombs were fired into it and 
homes were reduced to ashes. Into this very 
house, which belonged to him, fell a great cannon 
ball which did much damage but did not set it on 
fire. All the families, too, suffered the greatest 
misery. Hunger and pestilence carried off many 
of them. 

“Your worthy great-grandfather sought refuge 
in strange lands and suffered many hardships. 
He had taken as much money with him as he 
could carry, but on the way he was robbed. He 
earned his livelihood in various ways, and soon 
put his son out as an apprentice. When the lad 
was fourteen years old, he was called upon to face 
another hardship in the loss of his father, who 
died in misery and poverty, although he had once 
been the richest man in this city. 

“This son, my father, now alone in the world, 


CHANGE OF CIRCUMSTANCES 137 


continued as an apprentice and made progress in 
his trade. At last, when the war was over and 
peace had been restored, he returned to this city, 
poor in the world’s goods, but rich in knowledge 
and goodness. 

“ Through a decision of the court, this house 
was returned to him. The things that he found 
when he entered were empty chests and those two 
pictures hanging on the wall opposite. Look at 
them. Do you not read in those faces kindness 
and true worth? Yes, my children, they were 
indeed good people. 

“You never saw your great-grandparents, but 
you do remember your grandfather, for he often 
held you both on his lap. He had to work hard 
to build up a business, but through the help of his 
good wife he soon acquired wealth. 

‘ ‘ So, my children, you have now seen how from 
wealth one may be reduced to poverty, and how 
from nothing one may rise and become something. 

“My father showed me that no matter how rich 
he became, he always laid by some money for the 
time of need. He employed the best workers and 
paid the best wages ; and was a great benefactor 
to the poor. 

“His example and his teachings I have fol- 
lowed, or to-day we would be very poor indeed, 
now that I have lost my goods at sea. We must 
be very economical and, perhaps, in time we may 
retrieve our loss.” 


138 


MEMORIES AWAKENED 


Other tradesmen, too, suffered by this ship- 
wreck. Mr. Yollmar did what he could to help 
them and, little by little, they were able to go on 
with their business. But times changed, and there 
was little demand for Mr. Yollmar ’s goods. Fail- 
ure stared him in the face. 

“If I must give up my business, it will comfort 
me to know that when I have paid all my debts 
I shall still have a few dollars left. My conscience 
will be clear when I know that no one has lost one 
cent through me, and that my honor before Ood 
and man remains unspotted.” 

Pressed on all sides, he was almost forced to 
give up, but as a last resort he made up his mind 
to seek aid from two friends, both very rich men. 
But the one said: “I am sorry that I cannot help 
you, for I need my money myself/ ’ The other 
man said: “I would lend you some money, but 
I’m afraid I won’t get it back.” 

This treatment at the hands of his best friends, 
pained him sorely, and he returned in sadness to 
his home. Before entering, he seated himself in 
a little bower to review the situation. The sun 
shone with a friendly light; the birds sang their 
gladsome songs; and the flowers stood forth in 
all their gay coloring. 

“How hard it will be for me to leave this 
beautiful garden upon which I have spent so much 
money, and in which I have enjoyed so many 


CHANGE OF CIRCUMSTANCES 139 


happy hours. Who knows in what corner of the 
earth I shall be obliged to seek a new home?” 

He became sadder each moment, and, sinking 
upon his knees, he prayed for help. Hearing 
footsteps, he arose, and, looking down the foot- 
path, he saw an old man with snow-white hair 
being led by a little boy. Both seemed very poor, 
but they were neatly clothed. 

Just then the boy said to his companion: 
4 * Here, under this tree, is a nice seat. You are so 
tired, dear grandfather, rest here a little and be 
comforted; for the way is not much longer.” 
Then they both seated themselves. 

“It is a great undertaking for a man like me, 
blind and feeble, to travel such a distance,” said 
the old man. ‘ 1 ’Tis true, oculists often cure blind 
people, but I wonder if my blindness can be cured 
by that doctor of whom we have heard so much? 
Besides, we have so little money, and what will 
we live on while we’re in the city? It must soon 
be fifty years since I worked as a mason there. 
I really know no one to whom we could apply for 
aid ; for all my friends have passed on to a better 
land. But I trust God will help us find some place 
to rest.” 

As Mr. Vollmar heard these words, he became 
greatly touched. “To be blind,” said he, “and 
not to see the blue sky, the trees, the flowers, the 
sun and the people — that must be hard indeed. 
This man’s sorrows are greater than mine. I 


140 


MEMORIES AWAKENED 


have my two strong eyes; and should I lose my 
whole wealth, it would be as nothing compared to 
the loss of my sight.” 

1 ‘ These poor people — this blind man, this brave 
boy — know how to find comfort in their sorrow 
by trusting in God. I will learn from them and 
trust, too.” 

Just then Mrs. Vollmar entered the garden 
with her two children, and Mr. Vollmar beck- 
oned them to join him. He related all that he had 
heard the old man say. 

“My dear husband,” said Mrs. Vollmar, “let 
us take them into our house. Though we are get- 
ting poorer each day, I am sure that what we do 
for them will not hurt us ; for, it is written : 4 Be 
merciful and you shall obtain mercy. ’ 1 ’ 

“True,” said Mr. Vollmar, “and you certainly 
have a bigger heart than I have. Let us not only 
give them food and shelter, but let us call in an 
eminent eye doctor and have him examine this 
man’s eyes.” 

Just then the old man rose to depart with the 
boy, but Mrs. Vollmar hastened toward them, and 
said that they could remain with them for a while. 

Thanking them for this exceeding kindness, the 
strangers entered the house, and soon the old man 
began to talk about himself. 

‘ ‘ My name is Armand Seld. At one time I was 
a builder and mason, and lived with my son in 


CHANGE OF CIRCUMSTANCES 141 


this city. I have been blind for the last seven 
years.” 

As he seemed very tired, Mrs. Vollmar urged 
him to rest. She prepared a repast for him and 
after he had partaken of it, she showed him to his 
room. 

On the following morning, Mr. Vollmar sent 
for the doctor. After examining the old man’s 
eyes, he said that they were both covered with 
cataracts, of such a nature that he could remove 
them. He also held out the hope that he could 
cure them in a very short time. 

“But,” said he, “the old man must rest for 
three days before I can undertake the work.” 

After three days had elapsed the doctor re- 
turned and began the operation. Then the eyes 
were bandaged and the old man was kept in a 
darkened room. At the end of a week, the doctor 
removed the bandage from the patient’s eyes and 
slowly led him to the light. 

“I see! I see the light!” cried the old man. 
“I see your faces ! Oh, I thank God!” Then he 
folded his hands and silence filled the room; for 
each one was in sympathy with the old man and 
thanked God for his mercy. 

“But now,” interrupted the doctor, “we must 
cover the eyes again, and let them become accus- 
tomed to the light by degrees, and each day they 
will grow stronger. I will return daily and watch 
their progress ; meanwhile the patient must have 


142 


MEMORIES AWAKENED 


nourishing food, in small quantities, and he must 
he kept very quiet in order to save his strength. ’ ’ 
Then he hade them good-bye and Mr. Vollmar 
and his wife escorted the doctor to the door. 

The children kept shouting: “He sees! he 
sees!” and tumult and joy ran riot. 

At last the bandages were removed for good, 
hut the doctor warned the patient not to strain 
his eyes nor look into the sunshine for another 
week. 


CHAPTEE II 

THE REVELATION 

Armand Seld was now able to go about the 
house. The first room that he entered, after his 
tedious stay in his own darkened bedroom, was 
the dining-room where the family loved best to 
sit. The walls of this room were graced by the 
pictures of the Vollmar ancestors, together with 
a landscape by a famous master. 

The old man’s attention was attracted to this 
painting. 

* 4 What do I see?” he shouted. ‘ ‘ This picture 
I once saw by candlelight, and I cannot forget it. ’ 9 

“Strange,” said Mr. Vollmar, “that it should 
have made such an impression upon you.” 

‘ ‘ May I ask , 9 9 continued the old man , 4 4 have you 
owned this picture long? Have you lived here 
some time?” 

Mr. Vollmar replied: “This house, as well as 
the picture, descended to me from my sainted 
grandparents. But why do you ask?” 

“I must inquire still further before I can an- 
swer. Tell me — did your grandfather die in this 
house, or did he flee to a distant country during 
the war?” 

‘ ‘ He died far from here, in a strange land. But 
143 


144 


MEMORIES AWAKENED 


it surprises me how you should hit upon this 
question. ’ ’ 

6 1 Did your grandmother die first ? ’ ’ 

“Yes; but your questions disturb me.” 

The old man continued: “Was your own father 
present before your grandfather’s death, and did 
he not disclose to him a very important secret?” 

“My grandfather died of a malignant fever 
which robbed him of his senses. My father, then 
a boy, was sent for, but when he arrived he found 
his father dead.” 

“One more question I must ask — and I know 
you will forgive me. Did your father receive a 
big fortune?” 

“My father,” continued Mr. Vollmar, “re- 
turned to this city and this house a poor man. 
He married a woman as poor as himself, but with 
industry they at last became rich . 9 9 

/‘Do you know,” continued the old man, “you 
look just like your grandfather? He, too, was 
about the same age as you are now, and I feel, as 
I talk to you, as if he were here. But listen to 
my story and perhaps it may be of value to you. 

“Shortly before this city was plundered I 
worked as a mason. One day my employer, a very 
honest man, received word to call at once upon a 
gentleman who wished him to do some work 
which was to be kept a secret. As my employer 
was sick, he sent me in his place, vouching for my 
honor and trustworthiness. 


THE REVELATION 


145 


“I entered the house and was ushered into a 
room where your grandfather (for I have no 
doubts but that it was he) was seated. He started, 
and was indeed surprised that my employer 
should have sent as a substitute such a young 
man as I was then. After reading my recom- 
mendation, he ordered the servants to light two 
candles and set them on the table over which this 
picture hung. He made me vow never to tell the 
secret which he would entrust to me, except in 
time of need, and then only to one of his descend- 
ants. He spoke the oath and I repeated it, word 
for word, looking up at this picture all the time. 

4 4 Then he led me into the cellar, down another 
stairway made of stone into a lower cellar, where 
he opened a strongly bolted door. I gazed into a 
hollow in the wall, where many chests were stand- 
ing. 4 These boxes hold all my valuables, which I 
wish to save/ said he. ‘Now, I want you to 
cement this door so cleverly that no one will dis- 
cover its whereabouts. ’ 

“As all the tools were lying there in readiness, 
and the mortar had been previously prepared, I 
started to work at once. It cost a little labor and 
much pains to do the work well and to hide the 
door, but I succeeded, and received a gold piece 
for my labor. 

‘ ‘ The gentleman laid his finger on my lips, and 
said: ‘Remember your vow.’ 

“Soon after the enemy appeared. Your grand 


146 


MEMORIES AWAKENED 


father fled and so did I. Never again did I return 
to this city, nor did I think of the valuables 
secreted in these walls. The sight of this picture, 
however, recalls to my mind my vow.” With a 
sigh of relief, Armand Seld continued : 4 ‘ My dear 
Mr. Vollmar, God moved your heart to help a 
poor, strange, blind man. He helped to open my 
eyes, so that I could behold this picture, and to 
disclose to you your buried riches. Thus has He 
rewarded you for your kindness to me.” 

Mr. Vollmar had listened attentively to the old 
man’s story, and said: “You need not thank me. 
I did only what was my duty. You may be right 
about the treasure, for we often wondered what 
could have become of all my grandfather ’s wealth. 

“Being the wise man that he was, he would 
have known what havoc the war would bring, and 
consequently would have collected his money and 
possibly have hidden it somewhere. But where? 
Neither my father nor I could ever get the slight- 
est clue. What you have said of the little stone 
stairway and the lower cellar describes exactly the 
place under this house. I am more and more con- 
vinced, each moment, that my grandfather hid his 
treasures there, but now the question is whether 
they are still there. Let us go, at once, and find 
out. ’ 9 

They went, arm in arm. As they reached the 
lower cellar, the old man shouted: “This is the 



“The chests were opened.” 




148 


MEMORIES AWAKENED 


place. I remember this little round spot that I 
filled with putty and covered with cement.” 

By means of a long crow-bar, an opening was 
at last made, and one stone after another fell to 
the floor. 

“ Victory!” shouted the old man. “Here are 
the chests, untouched. I know my work. The 
treasure is still here.” 

Mr. Vollmar then called his son and a helper 
to his assistance, and the chests were soon opened. 
Bags upon bags of money, jewels unnumbered, 
silverware, hammered copper ornaments and 
some papers which had yellowed and had almost 
fallen to pieces — all these, met their astonished 
eyes. 

Taking the papers first, Mr. Vollmar read many 
important family records, besides an index of the 
contents of the chests, and the disposition to be 
made of them. 

“Oh, what good luck this is! It has all been 
sent to us just when we need it most,” said Mr. 
Vollmar. 

The family soon assembled to hear the good 
news and see the treasures. 

A feast followed and fun and great merriment 
filled the house. The care of the old man and his 
grandchild was willingly undertaken by the Voll- 
mars; and these good people lived together in 
peace and contentment for many years. 


THE INHERITANCE 

CHAPTERS. 

I. Mr. Acton and His Son. 

II. The Uninvited Guest. 

III. The Flowering Plant. 

IV. The Two Families. 


V. The Feast. 



“By this time they had reached the grave, which was graced 
by a flowering plant/’ 



THE INHERITANCE 

CHAPTER I 

MR. ACTON AND HIS SON 

Mr. Acton was a clever and highly respected 
merchant who owed much of his success in life to 
the system and exactness with which he carried 
on his business. Then, too, he was so reliable, so 
honest, and sold his goods so cheaply, that every- 
one preferred to trade with him. 

His home, which he could have furnished lux- 
uriously, was the model of simplicity. 

The only surviving member of his family was 
his son George, who was now twenty years of age. 
He was a sturdy, manly, upright youth; willing 
and obliging to his friends and kind-hearted to 
the poor. He reverenced God and everything 
which should be held sacred in life. He was the 
joy of his father’s heart. 

Partly on account of his father’s business and 
partly to increase his own knowledge and ability, 
George had journeyed to England, and Mr. Acton 
daily awaited his return. 

Late one afternoon, after a day of strenuous 
work, Mr. Acton sat dreamily near the fireside, 
smoking his pipe. Mr. Richmond, his bookkeeper, 
151 


152 


THE INHERITANCE 


who had been one of his school-mates, and who on 
account of his loyalty and honesty was classed 
as his nearest and dearest friend, sat beside him. 
Together they were planning for a banquet which 
they would give in honor of George ’s return. 

A knock at the door interrupted their conver- 
sation, and in response to the pleasant 4 4 Come,’ ’ 
the servant entered and delivered a package of 
letters. Mr. Acton broke the seals and hurriedly 
glanced over them, in turn. As he took one which 
seemed to please him, his face suddenly changed 
color, and the hand which held the letter began to 
tremble. Mr. Richmond became startled, for he 
well knew that business losses, which Mr. Acton 
had often experienced and borne calmly, could not 
be the cause of this agitation. He touched him 
lightly on the shoulder and said, with deep con- 
cern: “Do tell me what has happened.” 

“There, read it,” said Mr. Acton, with a deep 
sigh, as he handed him the letter. Then, sinking 
back in his arm-chair and folding his hands, he 
stared blankly into the distance, his grief too deep 
for words. 

Mr. Richmond read the letter which a fellow 
merchant in a distant city had written, and which 
referred incidentally to the sinking of a ship in 
the English Channel. Unknown to the merchant, 
this ship had been the one on which George Acton 
was to have taken passage. 

This sad news stunned Mr. Richmond, but he 


MR. ACTON AND HIS SON 


153 


tried to reassure his friend, and said: “Perhaps 
your son is among the saved, or possibly he may 
not have embarked, owing to some business 
delay.” 

“You certainly do kindle a faint spark of hope 
in my heart, my dear Richmond, but I fear it will 
be extinguished. Let us lose no time in getting 
all the information we can. ’ ’ He rang, and said 
to the servant who answered: “Go at once and 
send this telegram. ’ ’ Then taking up the evening 
newspaper his eye glanced hurriedly over column 
after column, and finally he read that the ship 
Neptune had been sunk, and that eleven persons 
had been rescued, but no names had been re- 
ported. 

Between hope and fear, the next day passed. 
He summoned all his courage and waited anx- 
iously for an answer to his telegram. 

All the neighbors, in fact all the people of the 
town, held Mr. Acton and his son in the highest 
esteem, and they awaited the news of George Ac- 
ton’s fate in dread suspense. At last the answer 
arrived : i 1 George was numbered among the pas- 
sengers on board, but not among those rescued.” 

Poor Mr. Acton was so overcome that his eyes 
held no tears. With dumb grief he shut himself 
up in his room to find his comfort in God, alone. 

Several days later, there came to Mr. Acton’s 
house an old sailor, who had been on the ill-fated 


154 


THE INHERITANCE 


vessel, and who could give an accurate account of 
the calamity. 

“We encountered a storm,” said the sailor, 
“such as I, an old sea-dog, have never experi- 
enced. It broke shortly before midnight, and in 
less than two hours it had driven us out of our 
course and seriously damaged our ship. Sud- 
denly, we felt a great thud, which threw us off 
our feet, and a dreadful crash told us that the 
ship had foundered. The water poured into the 
vessel from all sides, and the ship was soon sub- 
merged. 

“The helmsman, seven sailors, two passengers 
and myself swam through the tempestuous sea 
toward the cliffs which had shattered our ship. 
The brave captain and all the other passengers 
went to their watery grave. 

“The loss of young George Acton/ ’ continued 
the sailor, as he dried his eyes, “was deeply 
lamented by us all. The sailors loved him very 
much, for he was always so helpful and friendly. 
I know positively that every one of us would will- 
ingly have sacrificed his life, in order to save that 
of your son. But there was no moment to wait; 
the ship went under, and we were obliged to sink 
or swim. 

“I last saw him near the bow of the vessel, just 
as the storm was threatening to break. From that 
time on, I saw no more of him; but I chanced to 



v- ■ " ■ w:^ 

«*#x; is^i^f. ■$&&? 

si^lsiieasjSSBis 

Sb1»s|5| 






The Helmsman 



156 


THE INHERITANCE 


find this wallet, as I descended from the rigging ; ’ * 
and he passed it over to Mr. Acton. 

“It contains several letters from you to your 
son, and a bank note of value. That is why I 
wished to deliver it myself. ’ 1 

Mr. Acton took the wallet, and opened it with 
trembling fingers. He found the letters there 
which he had sent his son. ‘ 1 My good boy, ’ ’ said 
the father, “kept all my letters so carefully, car- 
ried them with him, and as I would have wished, 
read them often !” 

The affectionate father whose grief had been 
dumb and dry, for the first time shed the tears 
that would give relief to his pent-up feelings. 

The sailor continued: “On the morning fol- 
lowing the disaster, we found ourselves on the 
bare rocks, with nothing about us but the im- 
measurable sea. We found a stick and a piece 
of sail which had been cast upon the rocks, and 
this we hoisted. We were taken up by the sailors 
of another ship and landed at Havre . 9 9 

Mr. Acton had listened attentively to each word. 
Then, taking the money from the wallet, he pre- 
sented it to the sailor, saying: “Take this for 
your love to my son and for your honesty in re- 
turning the wallet to me. Lay the money by for 
your old age.” 

The sailor was astonished at this rich gift. He 
thanked Mr. Acton for his generosity and then 
departed. 


MR. ACTON AND HIS SON 


157 


Mr. Acton felt the loss of his son more and 
more each day, and soon his health began to fail. 
One Sunday morning, as he returned from church, 
he suddenly became very ill. He hadn’t the 
strength to remove his clothing, but sank into the 
nearest chair. 

Mr. Richmond, who had accompanied him, 
hoped that the illness would be slight, and buoyed 
his spirits with the thought that he would soon 
recover. 

“My dear Richmond,” the merchant said, “my 
hopes in this world are over, and I must now set 
all my affairs in order. Come, seat yourself at 
this table. There is pen, ink and paper. I wish 
to dictate to you my last wishes. The notary can 
then sign and seal the instrument.” 

“The great wealth with which God has blessed 
me would, in the natural course, all fall to my 
relations. But, as I know them, this would not be 
the best thing for them, but rather unfortunate. 
They shall each receive a suitable portion, with 
the understanding that the money be not wasted, 
but invested and bequeathed to their children. If 
the children do not wish to study and learn some 
trade, they shall not get a penny of mine. 

“For you, my dear Richmond, and for all my 
faithful assistants who helped me amass my for- 
tune, I shall provide generously. The worthy 
poor and the afflicted, I shall not forget. Come 
now, write quickly; I fear the time is short.” 


158 


THE INHERITANCE 


Mr. Acton began to dictate, but suddenly he 
stopped and cried: “I hear my summons. I 
must go. God, who has not permitted me to fin- 
ish this deed, will in His wisdom fulfill it, and let 
it reach my heirs to their best advantage ! 9 ’ 

He paused, prayed silently and passed away. 
All the members of the household were grieved 
at their loss. Mr. Richmond spoke gently to them 
and said : 1 ‘ Our good, helpful, pious friend sleeps 
in peace. Richly did he sow good deeds while here 
on earth, and now he has gone to the land beyond 
where richly he will reap.” 


CHAPTER II 

THE UNINVITED GUEST 

The death of Mr. Acton cast a gloom over all 
the people, with the exception of his relatives, 
who felt such unbounded joy over the unexpected 
inheritance, that it gave them much trouble to 
mask their true feelings. 

“The inheritance is enormous !” was all they 
could say and think. When the time came to 
make the division, and it was found upon investi- 
gation that the value of the estate to be divided 
was only about a million, the heirs were heard to 
grumble at the amount. They reprimanded the 
worthy bookkeeper, Mr. Richmond, and all the 
other able assistants, as if they had embezzled 
some of the money. These good, faithful men, 
instead of receiving what Mr. Acton had fully in- 
tended they should, were obliged to accept re- 
proaches and immediate dismissal. 

Soon the heirs began to quarrel among them- 
selves, and for a time it seemed as if they would 
have to settle their affairs in the court. However, 
their eagerness to possess the money soon brought 
them into accord, and each one accepted his por- 
tion. 

Then, one began to build; another bought a 
159 


160 


THE INHERITANCE 


country estate ; another gave up his business, and 
rode about in his carriage. Not one of them ever 
thought of Mr. Acton, much less of erecting a 
monument on his grave. 

Mr. Acton’s house, besides a large share of his 
money, fell to the lot of a man named Mr. Bond. 
He immediately had the house renovated and 
furnished magnificently, and when it was com- 
pleted to his satisfaction, he invited all his rela- 
tives to celebrate the event. On the appointed 
night, hundreds of lights illumined the house and 
gleamed in the crystal, like so many colors of the 
rainbow. They were reflected from the mirrors 
and shone upon the highly polished silver. 

All the heirs of the departed Mr. Acton had 
responded to the invitation, and were dressed to 
honor the occasion. Especially happy were the 
wives and daughters, whose elaborate gowns were 
works of art. Mr. Bond’s daughter resembled a 
princess in the elegance of her attire, and strutted 
about, in order to display her beautiful diamonds. 

After supper had been served, the guests re- 
tired to the grand salon. The entrancing tones 
of the music soon led couple after couple to dance 
to its rhythm, and the revelry ran high. 

It struck twelve by the big church clock. Sud- 
denly there flashed over the faces of the assembled 
guests, consternation and horror. The music 
stopped — the dancers seemed rooted to the floor. 
A sudden stillness, broken only by the echoing 


THE UNINVITED GUEST 


161 


tones of the clock, or here and there a gasp of 
fear or an exclamation of surprise, hovered over 
all. In one instant the doors had been thrown 
open, and there on the threshold, clad in black, 
and with a countenance pale as death, stood 
George Acton. 

If he had really returned from the grave, the 
fear and shock that his appearance caused could 
not have been greater. 

All present felt a shudder pass over them, as 
they realized the certainty of his return. How- 
ever courteous it would have been for them to 
have hidden their displeasure and to have ex- 
tended their greetings to him, not one came for- 
ward. The loss of their fortune was too distaste- 
ful to them; the awakening from a happy dream, 
from a life of joyous forgetfulness of right and 
duty, to a life of hard work was too revolting for 
them. Mr. Bond had been obliged to seat himself 
to recover his strength. Some swooned and had 
to be carried out. 

The noble George Acton had not for one mo- 
ment thought that his entrance would have caused 
his relations such a shock. So he withdrew to an- 
other room. Then the questions were heard: 
“Do we sleep or dream? Was it really he, or was 
it an apparition ? ’ 9 

The heirs could not understand how George 
Acton, who was considered as dead by everyone, 
even by the courts, could have the audacity to live, 


162 


THE INHERITANCE 


and by Ms unexpected return to give them such a 
blow ; but it came about in a very natural way. 

George Acton had, on the night of the sMp- 
wreck, swung himself from the fast sinking vessel 
to a plank. Wind and waves soon carried him 
many miles. Then the storm had subsided and a 
gentle wind had arisen. He found himself very 
much exhausted, for it had taken all his strength 
to cling to the plank. 

After a while he managed to seat himself upon 
the board. At dawn, all he could see on every 
side was water and sky. Completely drenched, 
and faint from hunger and cold, he passed the day. 

As the sun was beginning to sink, he felt that 
there was nothing for him but death. He raised 
his eyes to heaven and prayed silently. Suddenly, 
in the distance he saw the smoke-stacks of a sMp, 
lighted by the rays of the declining sun. The ship 
came nearer and nearer. At last, he was spied 
by the captain and saved. His thanks to God and 
man for his rescue were as hearty as his prayers 
had been fervent. When George had been warmed 
and nourished, he begged the captain to land him 
at the nearest port. 

The captain expressed his willingness to do all 
that lay in his power; but, said he, ‘ 4 This is an 
English warship. I dare not deviate one hair’s 
breadth from my appointed course. You will be 
obliged, unless we meet another vessel, to continue 
with us on the journey to St. Helena.” 


THE UNINVITED GUEST 


163 


The ship reached its destination, and after a 
weary wait of several months, George was advised 
to take passage on board a coaling steamer, then 
in port, and bound for Lisbon. 4 4 From there you 
can easily get to London/ ’ said the captain. 

George accepted this good advice, but found 
himself in a very great dilemma. He, the son of 
a rich merchant, was, what he had never thought 
possible, without one penny. As he sat lost in 
thought, the captain aroused him and said : 
4 4 What is it that troubles you?” 

George looked up at him abashed, and said: 
4 4 How can I make this trip when I am entirely 
penniless f * ’ 

4 4 Is that all?” said the captain. 4 4 Well, I have 
provided for that.” Whereupon he counted out 
to the astonished George a good round sum of 
money. 4 4 Now all I want is a receipt.” 

4 4 What?” cried George. 4 4 You intend to trust 
me, a person of whom you know so little, with this 
large amount of money! You know nothing of 
my circumstances, but what I have told you. * * 

4 4 1 know your sentiments, your thoughts , 1 1 said 
the captain, 4 4 and that is sufficient. I would will- 
ingly give you more, if I had it to give. But the 
amount will be sufficient to carry you to your des- 
tination. Were I not able to trust a boy like you, 
I should not want to deal with anyone. Now per- 
haps you would not mind doing a little favor for 
me. When you arrive in London, please deliver 


164 


THE INHERITANCE 


this money to my old mother, who needs my help. ’ ’ 
George promised faithfully to carry out the cap- 
tain’s wish. 

On the morning of departure, George hade the 
captain and his crew farewell, and after a devious 
journey, he at last arrived in London. He hur- 
ried to the home of his father’s friend, at whose 
house he had so recently sojourned. 

The merchant was speechless with astonishment 
when he recognized George, whom he had reck- 
oned among the dead. But greater still was 
George’s grief and despair when he learned that 
his kind, loving father had passed away. 

Without further delay, he transacted the busi- 
ness which the captain had deputed to him, bought 
some clothing for himself, and sailed with the next 
steamer to Havre. From there he took the train 
to his native town, arriving late at night. 

With a heavy heart, he walked through the 
streets to his father’s house. He expected to find 
it quiet and gloomy, hut the brightly illuminated 
windows were a painful sight. The joyous laugh- 
ter and the music all wounded his saddened heart. 
He could not resist the temptation to present him- 
self, unannounced, and end this wild revelry, this 
dreadful disrespect for the dead. So, it happened 
that he appeared on the threshold of the grand 
ball-room — an uninvited guest. 


CHAPTER III 

THE FLOWERING PLANT 

On the following morning, George wended his 
way to the cemetery to visit his father’s grave. 
After wandering about for some time, he thought : 
“How strange it is that I can not find it.” At 
last he met a worker there, to whom he said : 
‘ 6 Friend, would you be so kind, as to direct me to 
the tomb-stone that marks the grave of the late 
Mr. Acton.” 

The old grave-digger thrust his spade into the 
newly, upturned sod, and said to George, whom 
he did not recognize, “Yes, I can show you the 
grave, but the tomb-stone is still missing. His 
heirs have set up no stone, and probably will never 
erect one. They have forgotten the good, noble 
old soul.” 

By this time, they had reached the grave, which 
was graced by a beautiful hydrangea, handsomer 
than any plant of its kind that George had ever 
seen. A mass of beautiful flowers crowded for- 
ward between the dark-green leaves and thous- 
ands of dew-drops hung on the plant and sparkled 
in the morning sun. 

George stood there silent, with his hands 
clasped tightly before him, and his head bowed 
165 


166 


THE INHERITANCE 


in grief, while the tears fell on the grave. The 
beauty of the plant was a little comfort to him. 

After he had spent some moments thinking of 
his departed father, he turned to the grave-digger, 
and said: 4 4 Who planted this beautiful bush?” 

‘ ‘ Oh, that good child, Lucy, the oldest daughter 
of Mr. Richmond who was the book-keeper for the 
late Mr. Acton, she planted it. She was very 
much concerned because it seemed as if the good 
man were never to have a tomb-stone. 

‘ ‘ ‘ Oh, that we were rich ' said she , i then he cer- 
tainly should have the finest monument here in 
the church-yard. However, I will do what I can. 
I will plant this bush and, though it be not costly 
like a monument, yet it represents no less in good 
intentions. ' ” 

“She bought the bush last April and brought 
it here ; and with the spade I loaned her, she dug 
the earth with her tender hands and set it here. 
You see it is a long distance from yonder stream 
and yet, she brought the water that distance, to 
wet this plant whenever she visited the grave. 
She really felt grateful to Mr. Acton for his kind- 
ness to her father. All her people, too, loved 
him.” 

While George listened with interest to the 
grave-digger's recital, a young man from the vil- 
lage happened along. He joined the group and 
admired the bush. After a pause, he added; “I, 
too, remember Mr. Acton, everyone speaks of his 


THE FLOWERING PLANT 


167 


goodness. It would have been better for the old, 
honest Mr. Richmond and his children had Mr. 
Acton lived a little longer, for then, they would 
have suffered no want. Nor would Mr. Richmond 
have been thrust out of business so shamelessly. ’ ’ 

“As one misfortune seldom comes alone/ ’ con- 
tinued the stranger, “so it happened that Mr. 
Richmond had put all his savings into Mr. Acton’s 
business, where he thought it would be well in- 
vested. The heirs accused him of falsifying the 
accounts and brought him to court. But the case 
was deferred, and put on the calender for some 
distant date. In the meantime Mr. Richmond 
lost his all. 

“His daughter’s needle is now his only sup- 
port, as Mr. Richmond’s failing sight keeps him 
unemployed. The other members of the family 
are too young to earn anything.” 

George had been deeply touched by these reve- 
lations. He picked a flower from the bush, and 
put it into his button-hole. Then he slipped a 
golden coin into the old man’s hand, asked for 
the street and number of the humble house where 
the Richmonds now resided, and turned his steps 
in that direction. 


CHAPTER IV 

THE TWO FAMILIES 

The report that George Acton had returned 
was the talk of the town and had reached the ears 
of the Richmond family in their ont-of-the-way 
home. Mr. Richmond had gone forth in search 
of more facts on the subject. He returned highly 
elated, with the good news confirmed, and stood 
in the midst of his family relating it to them. 
Lucy stopped sewing and her hands dropped in 
her lap, for the news was such a wonderful sur- 
prise to her. Mr. Richmond closed his remarks 
by saying that he regretted his inability to find 
George Acton anywhere, and nobody seemed to 
know what had become of him. To search for him 
in the cemetery had not occurred to anyone. 

Just then a knock at the door announced a 
visitor. The door was opened, and George step- 
ped into their midst. Everyone was dumb- 
founded. The old Mr. Richmond ran forward 
and pressed him to his breast. Lucy and her 
brothers kissed his hands and wet them with 
their tears. “Oh, that your father were with 
us,” was all Mr. Richmond could say. 

George then seated himself and learned the 
history of his father’s last days. Mr. Richmond 
168 


THE TWO FAMILIES 


169 


told everything as he remembered, and every eye 
was moist. He told, too, how rongh, mean and 
cruel the heirs had been, particularly Mr. Bond. 

Hours passed like seconds to George, who list- 
ened breathlessly. He assured them of his good 
will and promised them soon to return and better 
their condition. He then left to make a few visits 
and to attend to some important business. 

In the meantime, the affairs in Mr. Bond’s 
household were not very agreeable. Following 
the unfortunate feast and revelry, Mr. Bond and 
his wife and daughter had passed the remainder 
of the night planning what they would do next. 

“Nothing worse could have befallen me,” said 
Mr. Bond, “than the return of this boy. I would 
rather that this house had tumbled in on us, and 
killed us all as we stood there. When I return 
my inheritance to George Acton, I become a beg- 
gar. What we have wasted, is twice as much as 
we ever had, and nothing will be left for us.” 

“Oh,” said his wife, “then we must sell our 
jewels and our carriages, and I must again walk 
to the theatres, like other ordinary people. I 
shall never survive it!” 

“You will, most likely, never get to a place of 
amusement,” said Mr. Bond. “What we have 
spent in one night for pleasure alone, will have 
to support us for almost a year.” 

His daughter, who had been admiring her 


170 


THE INHERITANCE 


diamonds, then said: 6 1 Must I return my dia- 
monds, too?” 

“Yes,” said her father, “jewels, gold, silver, 
house, garden, money must be returned and all 
luxury is at an end . 9 9 

Suddenly the Bonds resolved upon a plan to 
flatter George Acton, beg his pardon for their 
seeming disrespect, and invite him to a celebra- 
tion in honor of his return. As they were still 
devising how best to carry out the plot, George 
Acton entered. They jumped to their feet, hast- 
ened to greet him and assure him that his return 
gave them the greatest joy and happiness, and 
informed him of the feast with which they pro- 
posed to honor him. 

George hesitated a moment. Then, as if it had 
suggested some new idea to him, he agreed, with 
the understanding that he would be the host on 
that occasion, and that he would reserve the 
rights to invite a few of his old friends. He also 
requested that the feast be postponed for two 
weeks, as he wished to pass that time quietly, out 
of respect to his father. 


CHAPTER V 

THE FEAST 

The day that was to be crowned by a night of 
joy at last arrived. Late that afternoon, George 
Acton called upon his friends, the Richmonds and 
invited them for a walk. Lucy begged for a few 
moments in which to change her dress, but George 
dissuaded her, saying that her simple frock of 
beautiful white linen could not be improved upon. 

After strolling leisurely for some time, they 
came to the cemetery. “Let us go in,” said 
George, “and visit my father’s grave.” 

Lucy felt awkward, for she feared that he 
would consider the planting of the bush as 
audacious on her part, but she said nothing. He 
stepped toward the grave and held his hat in his 
hand. All were silent. Only the breeze sighed 
through the trees, and scattered here and there a 
leaf or flower upon the grave. Every eye was 
wet with tears. 

1 ‘ Lucy, ’ 9 said George, turning toward her, 4 ‘ the 
first bit of comfort that came to my heart after I 
learned of my father’s death, was the sight of this 
bush, planted here by your hands. I always re- 
spected your high and worthy thoughts and I have 
171 


172 


THE INHERITANCE 


learned now to respect them even more. Were 
my dear father living, I would lead you to him, 
and say that next to him I cared most for you, 
and ask him to give us his benediction. But, now 
I lead you to his grave, which to you as well as to 
me, is holy ground, and here I ask you to give me 
your hand, that I may care for you and protect 
you while I live ; and I will ask your parents for 
their blessing.’ ’ 

Mr. Richmond, quickly recovering himself from 
his surprise, said: “My boy, remember that you 
have millions and that my daughter is penniless.” 

“Your daughter’s kind heart is worth more 
than millions.” He then broke a flower, and plac- 
ing it in Lucy’s hair, said: “This flower with 
which Lucy decorated my father’s grave, repre- 
sents her dower. My dear Mr. Richmond, add 
your blessings.” 

Recognizing George’s earnestness, then Mr. 
Richmond said: “God bless you, my children, 
and may He keep you as happy, as He has made 
us all this day.” 

Silent and engrossed in deep thought, they ap- 
proached George Acton’s house. “Here,” said 
he, “I am expected. It grieves me that I must 
spend this night in the company of relatives who 
have dealt so cruelly with you, my good people, 
whom I love so dearly. But I must remain, for I 
have given my word; and you must all accom- 
pany me. ’ ’ 


THE FEAST 


173 


With Lucy at his side, followed by the Rich- 
mond family, George Acton stepped into the bril- 
liantly illuminated room, which was gorgeously 
decked with flowers. They were greeted by soft 
strains of sweet music. The Bonds were all pre- 
pared with flattering speeches, but the sight of 
the Richmond family surprised them as greatly 
as George Acton’s return had done, and words 
failed them. 

“They have complained to him,” whispered 
Mr. Bond, “and so he has dragged them here in 
their shabby clothes. Such impertinence on their 
part.” 

George stepped forward into the ball-room and 
beckoned to the musicians to stop. The guests 
had risen by this time, and stood about him in a 
circle. 

Mr. Bond then addressed George saying: “I 
know why you come with these good people. Pro- 
bably, it is on account of the law- suit which I have 
brought. It gives me great pain to think that any 
difference or ill-feeling exists between Mr. Rich- 
mond and myself, but I shall certainly call off the 
law-suit and I will pay him the money which be- 
longs to him, this very night.” Turning to his 
servant, he said: “Summon my book-keeper, at 
once . ’ 1 

“Don’t bother any further about it,” said 
George, “for it is no longer a matter which con- 


174 


THE INHERITANCE 


cerns you, but me. I will see to it that Mr. Rich- 
mond^ rights are restored to him. It was not 
for that purpose that I brought him here. I have 
an entirely different object in view. Where do 
you think we have been? We come, just as we 
are, from the grave of my beloved father.’ ’ 

Mr. Bond felt embarrassed and said: “Oh, I 
feel very much disturbed that the idea of giving 
your father a tomb-stone has never been carried 
out, but the stone-cutter disappointed me so 
often . ’ 9 

Then his daughter took up the thread of the 
conversation and said: “Yes, we regret so much 
that this delay has arisen, for only two days ago 
I visited your father’s grave, and thought how 
beautiful a monument would look there, if it were 
chiseled from Carrara marble.” 

“If you were there but two days ago,” said 
George, ‘ ‘ then you must have noticed that it has a 
tombstone, though not of marble. How did it 
please you?” 

She paled and began to stammer: “I was — I 
don’t know — it must have — ” 

Then followed a painful silence which was 
broken by George saying: “It is evident that you 
never visited the grave. However, that monu- 
ment has stood there several months. 

“It pains me deeply, Mr. Bond, that you did 


THE FEAST 


175 


not consider my father, who so generously en- 
riched you, worthy of a slight token of your 
thanks. Let me tell you that this night my rela- 
tionship to you changes .’ 9 

Turning to the other members of the party, 
George said: “I notice in this gathering many 
true friends of my father who loved me and 
esteemed me as a boy. I feel gratified that you 
have come to celebrate my return. But I must 
tell you that this celebration has a double pur- 
pose; for this is the night on which I present to 
you my future wife — Lucy Richmond. She it 
was who planted the flowering hush on the grave 
of my father, never dreaming that it would he 
recognized by any one. But I think more of that 
flower, than of all the riches of the world.” 

His friends came forward and with hearty 
cheers cried: “Long live George Acton and his 
bride. ’ ’ 

“Now,” said he, “as this house and all the 
fortune of which Mr. Bond still holds the greatest 
share, falls again to me, I take upon myself the 
rights of host, and heartily invite all those who 
are my friends, to spend the rest of the night in 
celebration of this threefold event. My return, 
the restoration of my fortune and Lucy to share 
it.” 

One by one, the Bond family quietly slipped 
out of the room. 


176 


THE INHERITANCE 


Later in the evening, during the feast, Mr. 
Richmond offered a toast to the health and hap- 
piness of George and his daughter, and ended by 
saying: “ Noble purposes and noble thoughts are 
the only foundation for happiness; and yield at 
all times buds and blossoms unnumbered. ’ ’ 


HOW IT HAPPENED 

CHAPTERS. 

I. The Wooded Island. 

II. Far from Home. 


III. The Smoke. 



“As soon as David saw that the boat was firm on the 

rocks he hurried out.” 







HOW IT HAPPENED 

CHAPTER I 

THE WOODED ISLAND 

In a quaint little cottage not far from the sea- 
coast, David Duval first saw the light of day. His 
father, a very industrious man, supported his 
family by making willow baskets, and his child- 
ren, as they grew able, helped him considerably. 
David, the oldest child, was the father’s favorite, 
for he showed great skill in his work, was quick 
and obliging and rendered his father considerable 
assistance. Although David gave promise of 
being a great man some day, yet he had a very 
grave fault, and this was his headstrong will. He 
always wanted to have his own way in everything, 
would never yield to another’s rights, and his 
parents found great difficulty in teaching him to 
obey orders. His sisters, too, suffered much from 
his bad temper and from his overbearing manner. 

His rich uncle, Philip, gave him many invita- 
tions to dine with him. David enjoyed nothing 
better than to have the feasts which his uncle pro- 
vided, but they made him dissatisfied with the 
simple fare of his own modest little home. He 
grumbled all the while he was eating in his own 
179 


180 


HOW IT HAPPENED 


house, and did not think it worth while to thank 
God or his parents for his food. 

When he was reminded of his faults, he would 
promise to do better, hut in a little while he would 
fall hack to his old ways. This saddened his 
parents and they thought that the fond hopes 
which they held for his future would all be 
blasted. t 

His uncle would often say to him: “ David, 
David, take care! God will yet send you to a 
special school, the ‘ School of Experience/ where 
He will discipline you, in order to make something 
good of you.” 

From the hill upon which David’s house stood, 
one could see a vast expanse of water. A little 
island which lay not far from the coast lent 
beauty to the scene by its wealth of verdure. No 
one lived upon it and David’s father visited it, 
from time to time, in order to gather willow 
branches for his basket weaving. 

David, who was now strong enough to help his 
father row and also to cut down the branches, 
often accompanied him. One night his father said 
to him : “ If the sky and the sea stay propitious, 
we will both row over to the island in the morn- 
ing.” David leaped for joy, and the prospect of 
the trip would hardly let him sleep. 

At dawn on the following day, as the sky began 
to glow and the morning star grew paler and 
paler, David stood ready. He helped his mother 


THE WOODED ISLAND 


181 


carry food and wraps into the little boat. It had 
once happened that the weather had suddenly 
changed, and David and his father had been 
obliged to remain on the island for three days, 
suffering much for the want of food and covering; 
therefore, mother took the precaution to give 
them a pot, a pan and some matches, so that they 
could start a fire and cook something, if neces- 
sary. 

As everything was now in readiness for the 
trip, David took his straw hat, while his sister 
playfully pinned a feather in the ribbon. 

“Oh,” said his father; “get a couple of baskets, 
David ; we ’ll need them. ’ ’ 

“What for?” asked David. 

“You’ll find that out soon enough,” said his 
father, laughingly. “Don’t you trust that I well 
know to what use I will put them? You do the 
same to me, as many people do to their Father 
in heaven. They always want to know why this 
or that was ordered. Do what I tell you, and in 
the end it will come out all right.” David then 
hurried and brought back the baskets. 

They both seated themselves in the boat, and 
pushed from the shore. Mother and daughter 
called after them: “A pleasant trip and a happy 
return.” David vied with his father in rowing, 
and it made him so warm that he took off his 
coat. 

Soon they reached the island and made a land- 


182 


HOW IT HAPPENED 


ing, while David tied the boat to a tree stump. 
They hurried toward the willow trees, cut the 
branches, tied them together in bundles and car- 
ried them to the little boat. The father was de- 
lighted with David’s helpfulness, and said: “That 
is right; children should help their parents as 
much as their strength will permit.’ ’ 

When they had gathered as many branches as 
were needed, the father said: “Now, let us rest 
a while and eat some lunch. After labor, rest is 
sweet, and one’s food tastes so much better.” 
When the meal was ended, the father said: “Now 
I want to give you another pleasure. Get the 
baskets and follow me.” Soon they came to a 
beautiful walnut tree, whose branches, spreading 
far out on all sides, were laden with nuts. David 
was overjoyed at this sight, as he had never seen 
the tree before. He at once filled his pockets with 
nuts and tried to crack one with his teeth and get 
at the kernel. “Father,” said he, “why did God 
put the sweet nut between two shells, a bitter 
and a hard one ! ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ My dear boy, ’ ’ said his father, ‘ ‘ God had the 
wisest purpose for doing this. He wanted to pro- 
tect the sweet kernel, out of which such a beauti- 
ful tree could grow and save it from the gnawing 
animals. This teaches us how to take the bitter 
and hard trials of this life. As we do not despise 
or throw away this sweet nut, because it has a 
bitter and a hard shell, so we must not resent the 


THE WOODED ISLAND 


183 


sorrows and disagreeable situations that come to 
us. The first experience we feel is that sorrows 
are bitter and hard, but we must trust that the 
good and sweet kernel which they have hidden 
within them will come to light at last, and will be 
not only of use, but also a blessing to us.” 

The father then climbed the tree and began to 
shake it. David gathered the nuts which rained 
down and put them into the baskets, which he 
carried to the boat, where he emptied them, re- 
turning many times for more. 

4 4 How your mother will rejoice when she sees 
these nuts,” said the father, “and what shouts 
of joy we’ll hear from your sisters when I divide 
them. The thought of it pleases me now, for cer- 
tainly there is no joy greater than that of giving 
pleasure to others.” 

While David and his father were busy with 
their work, there crept over the heavens heavy 
black clouds. Then there arose a dreadful wind 
storm, just as David stood in the boat emptying 
his last basket of nuts. The wind bent the trees 
and raised the waters into high waves. All at 
once, a blast came, tore the boat from its moor- 
ings and took it far out to sea. 

David cried loudly, in horror. His frightened 
father hurried to the shore and saw the boy in 
the boat, in the far distance. The waves increased 
in size and soon the little boat could be seen, first 


184 


HOW IT HAPPENED 


on the crest and then hidden in the trough. It was 
carried rapidly along. 

The father saw his boy wringing his hands, but 
of his cries he could hear nothing, for the sound 
of the roaring waters and rushing wind drowned 
them. 

The entire sky was now enveloped in black 
clouds and dark night hovered over the sea. 
Flashes of lightning illuminated the heavens and 
dreadful crashes of thunder filled the air. Seeing 
no more of his son or of the boat, the father sank 
disheartened under the willow tree and spent the 
night alone with his grief. 

Meanwhile, his wife and other children were 
distracted with fear. As the lightning broke 
forth, followed by thunderous crashes, and the 
island was shrouded in rain, they prayed for the 
absent ones. When the storm abated, they gazed 
long and patiently, in the hopes of getting a 
signal of the returning boat. They saw and heard 
nothing. The mother spent the night in sleepless 
anxiety. 

As the morning broke forth in beautiful sun- 
shine, and still no sign of the little boat could be 
seen, the mother’s fears grew greater and greater. 
She ran crying to Philip, and told him her 
troubles. He knit his brow and shook his head. 
“It is strange that they have not come back yet. 
I’ll just row over and see what has happened to 
them.” He stepped into his boat lying close at 


THE WOODED ISLAND 


185 


anchor, and, with his assistant, rowed over to the 
little island. Mother and children stood watching 
them in anxiety and dread. 

At last, they saw the little boat, in the distance, 
returning with its load. “Oh thanks,’ ’ cried the 
mother. “Philip has other passengers in the 
boat, besides his assistant. Now, it is all right.’ ’ 
She hurried down to the shore, but as the boat 
neared them she cried in fright: “Where is my 
David?” The father, deathly pale, looked at her 
in silence. His deep grief had made him dumb. 
Uncle Philip then spoke to her: “May God com- 
fort you, for our David has been drowned in the 
sea. Poor David had his faults, but he was a 
good-hearted boy.” 

The mother could find no comfort and the 
children cried. 


CHAPTER II 

FAR FROM HOME 

While David was being wept over as dead, he 
still lived. He had had a dreadful shock, riding 
on the tumultuous waves, far, far out to sea. His 
boat, over which the waves had dashed in fury, 
threatened each moment to sink. At last, after 
hours and hours of torture, the wind drove his 
boat upon the coast of a rocky island. 

As soon as David was sure that the boat was 
firm on the rocks, he hurried out, waded through 
the foaming, shallow water to the land and 
climbed up the rocks, while his clothes dripped 
with rain and sea water. 

After he had recovered a little from his shock 
and fear, he gazed out at his little boat and 
wondered how it had been so well guided into the 
clefts of the rocks. A good sailor could have made 
no better landing. “Who steered this rudderless 
boat so safely into this haven? God’s great good- 
ness and mercy has certainly led me to this safety, 
and all my life I shall be grateful.” 

The storm had now been broken and the rain 
ceased. David thought he could see the green 
island, with its trees but it seemed no bigger than 
a bush, that he could easily have covered with his 
straw hat. The land, still farther away, seemed 
186 


FAR FROM HOME 


187 


to touch the horizon, and it looked like a little 
cloud. 

“Oh,” cried David, “how dreadfully far I am 
from human help. This island, on which I have 
been cast, cannot be seen by my people; I never 
saw it when I looked out to sea. They will never 
think that I am here and they will mourn me as 
dead. The men will go and get my father, but 
no one will come for me. I have often heard them 
say, ‘for fifty miles out, there is no sign of 
land.’ ” 

The waters, little by little, grew calmer, so 
David hurried down to his boat; but, as he was 
about to step into it, he noticed that it had sprung 
a leak. “Oh,” cried he, “my little boat is useless 
now, and I am a prisoner on this rocky island. I 
must stay here till I die and never again shall I 
see my people.” His face grew white with fear 
and the tears rolled down his cheeks. 

As David saw starvation staring him in the 
face, he collected the nuts that were in the boat, 
put them into the baskets and carried them to 
safety, where he also placed the few utensils that 
had not been washed overboard. Then he pulled 
his little boat as far up on the rocks as he could 
get it. 

The fear through which he had passed had now 
exhausted him. He felt almost afraid to sleep, 
out in the open, all alone, but he prayed his even- 
ing prayer as he had been accustomed to, lay 


188 


HOW IT HAPPENED 


down beside his nuts and his few kitchen utensils, 
and soon was fast asleep. After a restless night, 
filled with many strange dreams of home, he was 
awakened by the noise of sea birds, fluttering 
overhead. As he gazed before him and saw 
nothing but the boundless sea, he uttered a loud 
cry. 

A bevy of birds flew toward the land. “Oh, 
dear birds, I wish you could carry a message to 
my people and tell them that I am here. My 
good father and uncle would risk their lives to 
get me.” 

After he had breakfasted on a few nuts and a 
little piece of bread, he decided to examine the 
island. “Perhaps I shall find some fruit trees 
that will afford me nourishment till God delivers 
me from this captivity; and maybe I shall find 
some people living here who will take me to my 
home. ’ ’ 

He wrapped a few pieces of bread and nuts in 
his handkerchief, tied the bundle to the end of a 
stick, slung it over his shoulder and started forth. 
It was a dangerous, weary journey that gave no 
signs of human life. Nor did he see any of the 
narrow paths usually made by animals. Number- 
less trees were there, but none that bore fruit. 

“If I have to stay long on this island, I’ll die 
of starvation, ’ ’ said he, as the perspiration rolled 
down his cheeks. “But before hunger kills me, I 
know I’ll die from thirst.” As he continued his 


FAR FROM HOME 


189 


way, he heard a murmuring sound, like that of 
water. He hurried in the direction of the sound, 
and found a little spring, cold and clear as 
crystal. He seated himself beside it to cool off, 
and then drank to his heart’s content. He had 
never before noticed what a blessing from God 
water really is ; but now he appreciated the drink 
and offered his thanks for it. 

He proceeded on his way, and at last reached 
the highest point of the island. It filled him with 
dread, as he saw the entire island covered with 
trees, and lying there, at his very feet and on 
every side — the immeasureable sea. Now he 
realized that he was all alone and far from help. 
“I will come to this point every day and watch. 
Perhaps a passing steamer will pick me up and 
take me home.” 

The sun began to sink and colored the heavens 
with gold-rimmed rays of purple and red. As 
David stood gazing at the beauties of the sky 
which he had never before noticed, he prayed to 
the Creator to send him help and guide some ship 
to this lonely island. Then he descended the rocks 
and retraced his steps. Soon he lay down under a 
clump of trees and fell fast asleep. When he 
awoke, he ate a few nuts and some bread. 

Each day he wandered to the rocky summit and 
watched for a ship. But all in vain, for on the 
great, wide sea no ship was to be seen. He saw 
the necessity of eating sparingly, or his food 


190 


HOW IT HAPPENED 


would not last; so he took his little knife and 
made cuts across his bread, showing how much he 
could eat daily, and only when he was very 
hungry. The little piece of bread had become 
very hard and he had to soften it in the water 
from the spring. 

“Oh,” cried he, “how many good things I had 
at my father’s table, that I grumbled about and 
for which I never thanked God.” As he sat 
thinking about himself and all his ingratitude, he 
saw the fishes swimming in the water. “I’d catch 
some fish,” said David, “if I only had a line.” 
Picking up his straw hat, he ripped out the 
thread, and taking the pin with which his sister 
had fastening the feather, he made a hook out of 
it and tied the thread to it. He searched for some 
worms, and soon, he began to angle. He tried 
again and again, but not a nibble could he get. At 
last luck favored him, and soon he had three 
fishes. Remembering the matches which his 
mother had put into the tin-covered pail, he de- 
cided to start a fire and cook his fish, adding a 
little salty water for seasoning. He relished this 
little repast more than the finest feast served at 
his rich uncle’s house. 

One morning, as he again ascended the rocky 
summit, he saw a large ship that seemed no more 
than a mile away. Its sails were all unfurled and 
gilded with the rays of the bright sun. Hope 
filled his breast and he trembled with fear. He 


FAR FROM HOME 


191 


watched it, as it came nearer and nearer. Sud- 
denly, he seized a stick, and tying his red hand- 
kerchief to it, moved it to and fro like a signal of 
danger and distress. But before the ship had 
come close enough to see the sign, it changed its 
direction and sailed away into the far distance. 
David followed its course, till it was lost to view, 
and then he sank upon the ground disheartened 
and cried bitterly. 

The hours of the day that were not used in 
fishing, cooking, or chopping, he spent gathering 
shells, in which he often found pearls. As no per- 
son had ever been there to gather them, he found 
them in quantities. Then, too, he found many 
beautiful corals in the moss-covered rocks. “If 
God permits me to return to my people, ’ 9 said he, 
“I will bring them these pearls and corals, as 
presents . 9 9 

He spent his time as best he could and often 
sighed for companionship. For hours he would 
gaze at the friendly moon, at which he had never 
before gazed more than a second. And the 
twinkling stars, too, seemed to have a new mean- 
ing for him. “The heavens truly show God’s 
wonderful work , 9 9 said David. Even the delicate 
green moss that he had never deigned to notice 
now had its value, since it afforded him a soft 
bed. “I see God’s finger in everything about 
me,” said he. “How well everything has been 
ordered.” Good thoughts were now awaking in 


192 


HOW IT HAPPENED 


his mind and they were, like wings, carrying his 
heart to heaven. 

‘ ‘Loneliness must be sent for a good reason/ ’ 
thought he. “ Perhaps God sent me to this dreary, 
lonely place to make me see and feel what I never 
understood before.” David realized now that he 
had never been grateful to his parents for their 
care. Nor as obedient to their wishes as he should 
have been. 

■“Oh, if I ever get back to my home, I will be 
grateful and obedient to my parents.” He re- 
membered, too, how disagreeable he had often 
been to his sisters, and said: “Oh, how sorry I 
am. If God lets me return I will ask their for- 
giveness and be a good brother to them. I never 
appreciated my home, my parents, nor my sis- 
ters. God forgive me and let me return, and I 
will try to repay them in kindness and love for all 
my negligence.” 

An intense longing for his people filled David’s 
heart ; and it grew stronger every minute. Each 
day he watched for ships and often sighted one, 
but they never neared the island. At last he came 
to the conclusion that the coast was rocky and 
dangerous, and so no ship would ever come near it. 

With this sad thought, he was retracing his 
steps one day, carrying some wood to his little 
retreat. But what a terror seized him. He saw 
in the direction of his little retreat thick, black, 
clouds of smoke ascending to the heavens, and two 


FAE FROM HOME 


193 


red flaming brands of fire, like two church spires. 
David had often heard of islands that were 
volcanic and sent forth fire, and now he thought 
that this was one. He threw his wood to the 
ground and with palpitating heart drew closer 
and closer: but all he could see was smoke and 
flames. The crackling of the fire filled him with 
more fear. At last he saw that it was not from 
the earth that the fire issued. He realized that the 
wind had blown the flames of his little fire, which 
he always kept lighted, against some bushes and 
had set them on fire. Almost everything he owned 
was being destroyed and two immense trees were 
being consumed. 

When he considered, above all, the loss of his 
little fishing line that meant so much to him, he 
cried aloud: “Oh, what a misfortune this is! 
Now, I’ll die of hunger. I often heard my father 
say that from misfortune, fortune sometimes 
grows, but, when I look at this damage, it doesn’t 
seem possible that any luck could come from it. 

“Oh, how good it is to live with people. How 
easily one can help the injury to another. Oh, 
if ever I have the luck to get back to my family, 
how willingly will I help them in times of need. 
But who will help me, a poor, lost boy, on this 
lonely island? I am like a poor bird driven from 
her nest.” A mighty painful longing for his 
father ’s house again seized him. ‘ ‘ If only a ship 
would come and take me back,” he said. 


CHAPTER III 

THE SMOKE 

His people too, were mourning through these 
weary, weary weeks. One day the father said to 
the mother: “I need some willow branches and 
although it is very painful for me to go to that 
island, still, there is no other place where I can 
get them.” 

i ‘ Then you must not go alone, ’ 9 said the mother. 
‘ ‘ Take the children with you. They will be a help 
and a comfort to you . 9 9 Soon they were all ready 
and rowed over to the island. After landing, they 
sat under a tree for a while. 

“This poplar tree,” said the father, “is the 
very one under which David and I sat the last 
day we were here. And over in that direction,” 
pointing toward the island, “he was carried in his 
little boat.” Tears stood in the father’s eyes; 
the boy, Andreas, turned his head to wipe a tear ; 
while the girls cried. 

“Let us go now and gather nuts,” said the 
father, to cheer them again. They soon filled 
their baskets and were about to return to the boat, 
when the boy said : ‘ 4 Dear father, let us go to the 
top of the hill and get a view. I Ve never been up 
there.” “Oh, yes,” begged the girls, “do let us 
go.” 


194 


THE SMOKE 


195 


The father consented and they all mounted the 
hill. It was a beautiful day. The sky was cloud- 
less and the air was so clear and dry, that one 
could see distinctly far out into the distance. Sud- 
denly Andreas shouted: 4 ‘ Father, what is that I 
see? Isn’t smoke coming up out of the water?” 
The father looked in the direction pointed, and 
seeing smoke, said: “I don’t know what it is. I 
fear it is a steamer on fire. It seems, ’ ’ continued 
he, shading his eyes, “that I see a dark spot, out 
of which the smoke is ascending. Don’t you see 
it?” 

“Oh, yes,” cried the girls, “and it has two 
sharp points at the top.” 

“I see it, too,” cried Andreas. “One point is 
higher than the other. ’ ’ ’ 

“That is no ship,” said the father, “for a ship 
would have a different shape, and wouldn’t look 
so big from such a great distance. It must be an 
island, but I am sure I never heard of it. People 
must live there, or how could smoke arise from 
it.” 

“Oh, my,” cried one of the girls, “wouldn’t it 
be wonderful if our dear David lived there.” 

“Maybe so,” cried Andreas. 

“Nothing is impossible with God,” said the 
father. “We must leave nothing undone in our 
search for him. We will ask Uncle Philip’s advice 
and get him to help us. Let us retrace our steps, 
now, for it is time for us to return.” 


196 


HOW IT HAPPENED 


Little did they know how truly they had pro- 
phesied, for the smoke which they saw was as- 
cending from the fire on the rocky island — the 
same that had cost David many tears of anguish 
and fear. 

When they reached home, they told the mother 
their happy conjecture at once, and a faint ray of 
hope filled her heart. 

The neighbors were now called together, but 
their ideas on the subject were varied. 

“ Nonsense/ ’ cried one. “How did that island 
get there. I never heard about it in my life. It 
must be a burning ship. ’ ’ 

“No,” cried another, who always thought he 
knew better than anybody else, “that’s no ship, 
but a volcano sending out its fire. I have often 
heard that such islands appear over night. We 
would come to a nice place, if we should sail near 
such a fire-brand.” 

“It’s either a ship or a volcano,” said a third; 
“but for a hundred dollars I wouldn’t go over 
there in such little boats as we have.” 

“If you’ll pay me,” said a fourth, “I will go, 
but not otherwise.” 

The old, honest Uncle Philip raised his quiet 
voice, and said: “Brother, I will go with you. 
Here is my hand on it. David was my beloved 
nephew. It may not be certain that he lives, 
hardly probable, but still possible. Therefore it 
is worth the trouble of undertaking the danger- 


THE SMOKE 


197 


ous trip; and God, who gives ns courage to go 
ahead, will also see ns through.” 

Peter, a young, strong lad, shouted: “I will 
go too. I have often risked my life for a fish, so 
I’ll risk it now to save a human life, if I can. I 
want no money, for as long as I live I would be 
happy in the thought that I had helped to save 
David, and this thought would be a sufficient re- 
ward. ’ ’ 

“God give us all this joy,” said Uncle Philip. 
“If wind and weather continue favorable, we will 
set sail at daybreak.” The other men departed, 
shaking their heads and predicting misfortune. 

Peter and Uncle Philip remained and discussed 
the matter a little further. “I will take my sail 
boat and furnish the food,” said Philip. 

The following morning proved perfect and a 
light wind was blowing. Mother and daughter 
accompanied the men to the boat landing, and 
said: “God grant that you may return safely, 
bringing our David with you.” 

The men unfurled the sails and pushed off from 
the land, passing the green island and going in 
the direction of the smoke. Nearer and nearer, 
did they come, and at last Peter cried: “It is 
really an island. Let us help with the oars.” 
Suddenly Uncle Philip shouted: “Stop, and furl 
the sails. There are many dangerous rocks in the 
sea. We must be very careful or we will founder.” 

By means of the rudder and much care and 


198 


HOW IT HAPPENED 


pains, they at last made a landing. Peter was the 
first to leap on shore, and cried: “Now we have 
reached the island and perhaps we shall find 
David. Whatever is begun in God’s name and out 
of love to humanity, will succeed.” 

The other two men now stepped out and fast- 
ened the boat securely. Uncle Philip looked at the 
rocks, shook his head and said: “This isn’t a 
nice place to live.” 

They begun to search the island and climbed 
over the rocks and deep clefts. At last they 
reached a little trodden path which led them to 
David’s retreat. Peter hurried ahead. 

David had passed a sleepless night in fear and 
sadness. As the morning sun shone over all, a 
little lightness had crept into his heart, and he 
sank upon his knees and prayed. 

As David was kneeling, the three men came be- 
hind him. But he was so absorbed that he heard 
no steps. 

Peter saw him first, and said to the others: 
“See, there is a hermit, maybe he can direct us. 
Brother, can you tell us?” — he had no time to 
finish his question, for David had risen to his 
feet. He recognized his father, and cried: “Oh, 
my father! my father!” Then a silence broke 
over them, for neither had the power to speak. 

At last they controlled their emotion and 
thanked God in one voice, for bringing them to- 
gether. David then greeted his uncle and Peter 


THE SMOKE 


199 


and gathering up his belongings, hastened with 
them to the boat. 

On the homeward trip, David related all his 
adventures, and shed tears of joy. Even his father 
had to dry his eyes several times. “You were 
very wise, and helped yourself wonderfully. Ne- 
cessity awakened your understanding, ’ ’ said 
Peter. 

“Don’t you remember ?” said his uncle, “what 
I once said to you that Ood would send you to a 
special school? That’s where you’ve been. In 
the school of Experience. In this school you 
learned to know God, to pray to Him, to love Him, 
and to thank Him for his blessings. What I find 
most wonderful of all in your story is about the 
smoke which arose from your island. What is 
more trivial than smoke, yet the smoke was like a 
sign from heaven, that this was an island upon 
which some one lived. That was God’s finger.” 
All silently gave thanks for the sign. 

“I thought,” said David, “that the fire was 
the worst thing that could have happened to me, 
but now I see it was my greatest fortune. 

Then Uncle Philip said: “Our beloved ones at 
home are watching and waiting for our return,” 
so Peter quickly busied himself with a stick upon 
which he fastened some ribbons. 

“What are you going to do with that?” asked 
David. 

“I promised your sisters if we succeeded 


200 


HOW IT HAPPENED 


in finding yon, to raise this banner. How they 
will rejoice when they see it.” Then and there 
he fastened it to the prow of the ship. 

Each moment brought them nearer home and 
David’s heart beat high with hope, for on the 
shore his mother and sisters and all the villagers, 
big and little, were gathered. As David stepped 
on land, a cry of joy arose from the people; but 
the mother’s joy at seeing her David was so in- 
tense that she wept. 

Men and women, boys and girls, shook his hand 
and wished him a thousand times welcome. 
David ’s mother wanted to hear his story and was 
about to drag him home but the people wouldn’t 
let her. “We want to hear it too,” and they led 
him to a big linden tree and bade him step upon 
the seat and tell his story. All pressed around 
him. All eyes were on him. When it was still, 
David began. He told them of his dangers, trials 
and suffering, and said, in the end, that these had 
taught him the things which he had never learned 
before. “I am grateful to God for my deliverance 
and for the joy of being with you all again.” 

Thanking them for their interest in him and 
bidding them good-bye for the present, he entered 
his father’s house, where a hearty meal was 
spread before him. 

When the meal was over, David opened his little 
bundle and displayed his pearls and corals and 
said: “I have brought you all a present from my 


THE SMOKE 


201 


island.” All stood in astonishment and admired 
them. 

“My, my,” cried Uncle Philip, examining them 
closely, “you have brought some valuable things. 
These pearls and corals will yield much money, 
for some of them are very large. Now you have 
helped your father out of all his debts and 
trouble.” 

“No, no,” said his father, “we will share them 
with Peter and yourself. You shared the dan- 
gers of this trip with me, and you shall also share 
the treasures. Philip, you take first choice, and 
then Peter next. ’ ’ 

Two of the men who had offered to go on the 
trip for money, now entered the room and wished 
they had gone for nothing. “For such a reward 
as that,” they said, “it would have been worth 
while. ’ ’ 

“Go, go, you poor, miserable wretches,” cried 
Philip, “you wouldn’t move a hand or foot to 
help a fellow man in trouble without being paid 
for it. It serves you right that you get nothing.” 

“I wish none of this money,” continued Philip. 
“I have enough and ask no more. But Peter must 
take his share, for the spirit which he showed 
gave all of us courage, and he must be rewarded. 
Besides, he needs it.” 

Deeply touched, Peter took the reward with 
thanks. 

Then the grateful parents again urged Philip 


202 


HOW IT HAPPENED 


to take the pearls, but he replied : ‘ ‘ Let it be, as 
1 said before. The pearls and corals are the least 
that David brought back with him; for he has 
gathered unto himself costlier treasures: ‘Love 
for God and to humanity.’ These are priceless 
pearls.” 

Turning to David, he said: “Not only have you 
found these treasures for us, but you have 
brought good fortune to our little community. 
For pearls and corals can now be gathered by the 
men of this village, and offered for sale. This 
will furnish a comfortable living for many of 
them. So, you have become a public benefactor. ’ ’ 

The little household soon resumed its usual 
routine and David entered into the life and spirit 
of his home. He became a model of virtue for the 
village youths, and the joy, staff and crown of his 
parent’s life. He grew to be a noble, pious man, 
full of love and helpfulness to his fellow men ; and 
his memory remains blessed. 


FROM ROYAL PALACE TO 
LOWLY HUT 


CHAPTERS. 

I. The Suburbs. 

II. The Retreat. 

III. The Prison. 

IV. The Purchase 


V. Reunited. 



“Suddenly the door was thrust open and armed soldiers 
crowded the room.” 


FROM ROYAL PALACE TO 
LOWLY HUT 

CHAPTER I 

THE SUBURBS 

During those unhappy times when the Empire 
of France was overthrown and a number of the 
richest people were plunged into the deepest 
misery, a very wealthy family, named Berlow, 
lived in a palace in Paris. 

Count Berlow was a high-minded, honorable 
man, and his wife was good and charitable. Their 
two children, Albert and Marguerite, were the 
exact counterpart of their parents. 

Just as those revolutionary times broke forth, 
Count Berlow, with his family, moved from Paris 
to his mansion in the suburbs. Here he lived 
quietly, surrounded by orchards of fruitful trees, 
free from the turmoil of the noisy city. His fam- 
ily rejoiced at having him constantly in their 
midst and he was glad at the opportunity of being 
the instructor of his children, particularly in 
music. 

One gloomy winter evening, the family was 
gathered in the brilliantly lighted music room. 

205 


206 


FROM PALACE TO HUT 


Count Berlow had composed a pretty little poem, 
and had fitted it to music. Albert had with diffi- 
culty mastered the playing of it, but Marguerite 
could sing the song remarkably well. The chil- 
dren had practised this piece faithfully and dili- 
gently and purposed to surprise their mother by 
singing and playing it that very evening. After 
the Count and Countess had sung several operatic 
selections, the father turned to his children, say- 
ing: “Let us hear what you can do.” Albert 
seated himself at the piano and played, while Mar- 
guerite modestly sang in a sweet tone. 

The Countess was delighted over this, their 
first song. She embraced both the children affec- 
tionately, and praised them for their efforts and 
the pleasure which they had afforded her. 

Suddenly, the door was thrust open, and armed 
soldiers crowded into the room. The leader pre- 
sented an order in which the Count was declared a 
friend of the King and an enemy of freedom and 
equality, and in consequence he was to be con- 
ducted to prison. Although the Countess, weep- 
ing and lamenting, threw her arms about her 
husband’s neck to hold and guard him, and his 
children clung to his knees, the soldiers rudely 
tore him from their embrace. The cries of the 
mother and children were heart-rending. 

The unhappy wife did everything in her power 
to save her dear husband. She hastened to the 
city and appeared before the magistrate, to prove 


THE SUBURBS 


207 


the Count’s innocence. She called upon all her 
neighbors to bear testimony to her husband’s 
quiet, retiring life, and to the fact that he had 
taken no share in the affairs of his country, and 
had talked with no one concerning them. But 
everything was in vain, and she was informed 
that in a few days her husband would be sen- 
tenced to death. 

After an absence of several days, the Countess 
returned to her country seat and found her home 
occupied by soldiers, who had ransacked it and 
reduced it to a common tavern to which admit- 
tance was denied her. Her two children were no- 
where to be found, and all her servants had been 
driven away. It was late at night, and she knew 
not what to do next. 

As she turned, she met Richard, her old, true 
and faithful servant, who said to her: “My dear, 
good Countess Berlow, you, too, stand in danger 
of suspicion this very minute, for you have been 
heard to speak of the injustice and cruelty of the 
government. There is no escape for you, except 
by secret flight. You cannot save your husband, 
and your presence here will only bring trouble 
upon your own head. Your children are both in 
one of the out-houses with my wife. Follow me 
there. My brother, John, the old fisherman, has 
been notified, and I will take you to him to-night. 
He will conduct you and your children across the 


208 


FROM PALACE TO HUT 


river to safety. In this way you will at least save 
your lives/ ’ 

She entered Richard’s house, but there a new 
trouble awaited her, for Marguerite had become 
suddenly ill from the fright and the shock, and 
lay unconscious, sick with a high fever. The 
Countess wished to nurse her child back to health, 
but the doctor would not hear of it, and advised 
her immediate flight. Richard and his good wife 
promised to care for the sick child, as if it were 
their own. 

Countess Berlow knelt beside the bedside of her 
beloved daughter, and said: “If I must bow to 
this decree, I leave her in your care, my good 
people, and ask God in His mercy to watch over 
her and restore her to me in His good time.” She 
paused for a moment, then rose quickly from her 
knees, kissed her unconscious child, took her son 
by the hand, and trembling and swaying, hast- 
ened out of the house, without one backward look. 


CHAPTER II 

THE RETREAT 

Richard now conducted the Countess and her 
son to John, the fisherman, who quickly rowed 
them over the river to safety. As there was no 
time to rest, with the help of a guide, the fisher- 
man’s friend, she hastened on with her son to find 
the hut which Richard had suggested. 

After days and weeks of journeying hither and 
thither, over hills and through valleys, they found 
that their strength was almost exhausted. At 
last they came to a little low hut in a thickly 
wooded country. The guide pointed to it with 
his staff , saying : 1 6 That is the hut ; there live the 
old shepherd and his wife who will harbor you.” 

Countess Berlow sighed, and followed the nar- 
row path to the hut. 

The old shepherd, who had been expecting her, 
came forward with a pleasant smile and welcom- 
ing, outstretched hands. To show his great re- 
spect for her, he had dressed himself in a gray 
suit. Around his neck he had tied a red hand- 
kerchief, and he wore a nice, green hat with a 
little bent feather at its side. 

“Greetings to you, noble lady,” said he. “I 
consider it a great honor to protect you and your 
209 


210 


FROM PALACE TO HUT 


son. This is my wife, and between us we will do 
all in our power to make you feel contented.’ ’ 

So saying, he turned to his wife, who repeated 
his greetings, and invited all to partake of her 
simple meal, which consisted of bread and milk 
and a few apples. 

The good shepherdess then conducted the 
Countess to a room which opened on an adjoining 
room. These two rooms were to serve as bed- 
rooms. The larger one was meagerly furnished, 
and its only window looked out upon the forest 
and two high mountain tops. 

Countess Berlow was thankful for having been 
guided to this humble retreat. She cared for her 
own rooms daily and spent the remaining time in 
knitting, sewing or reading. But her greatest 
anxiety was to find amusement for her son, Al- 
bert. She undertook to continue his instruction, 
but she was at a loss for books. 

One morning, as she sat musing over her wants, 
she was aroused from her reverie by the ringing 
of the near-by church hell. The good, old shep- 
herdess came running into the room saying that 
the clergyman from over the hill would hold serv- 
ices in the chapel that day. Countess Berlow, 
with her son, hastened at once to attend. 

The clergyman delivered a short sermon, every 
word of which touched the hearts of his earnest 
listeners. After the services, the Countess sought 
the clergyman and engaged him in conversation. 


THE RETREAT 


211 


She found him to be a thoughtful, devout, kind- 
hearted old man. He showed great interest in 
Albert. He promised to supply the much needed 
books for his use, and offered to give the boy two 
hours ’ instruction each day, provided Albert 
would take the trouble to journey over the hills 
to his house. 

Albert promised to come, overjoyed at the 
prospect of continuing his studies under such an 
able teacher. He could scarcely wait each day 
for the hour when, with his books under his arm, 
he would set out over the hills, whistling lively 
tunes and keeping step to his music. 

On rainy days, when the roads were heavy and 
ofttimes dangerous, he was obliged to forego his 
visits. His mother would then suggest some 
recreation for him, for she well knew that all 
work and no play would tend to make him dull. 

In this locality, large numbers of canary birds 
were raised and sold and sent far and wide to 
other countries. Even the old shepherd had 
many of these birds. Albert begged his mother 
to purchase one of them for him. “Marguerite 
always had one,” said he, “and I would dearly 
love to own one, too. It would remind us of her 
and our own dear home.” 

His mother agreed, and Albert chose a bird 
that closely resembled the one belonging to his 
sister. The bird with its beautiful yellow plum- 
age, its clear, brilliant, coal-black eyes, afforded 


212 


FEOM PALACE TO HUT 


Albert much pleasure. Soon the bird became 
tame, flew upon Albert’s outstretched finger and 
ate seeds from his lips. 

Whenever Albert wrote, the bird would alight 
on his penholder and peck his fingers. Though 
he enjoyed the bird’s presence and tricks, yet he 
was obliged at times to cage him, in order to carry 
on his work undisturbed. Later, when the bird 
began to sing, Albert could not praise it enough. 

“You must teach it to whistle nice songs,” said 
the old shepherd one day. 

Albert thought the old man was joking. He 
did not yet know that one can teach a bird to imi- 
tate. The old man then brought out a flute and 
presented it to him. 

‘ ‘ Oh, what a fine flute ! How glad I am to own 
one,” said Albert. 

The old shepherd took the flute, played a waltz 
upon it, and showed Albert how to use the stops. 
Albert was pleased with the light, clear tones of 
the flute, and as he had talent for music and had 
a good ear, he soon mastered the difficulties of 
the instrument. 

Often he played tirelessly for the bird and 
always a song which his father had taught him. 
After striving for hours and days and weeks to 
teach the bird, lo ! his wonderful patience was re- 
warded. The bird began to sing the song, and 
sang it through without a mistake. 

Albert leaped with joy and thanks. He praised 



“Soon the bird became tame and flew upon Albert’s out- 
stretched finger.” 




THE RETREAT 


213 


the bird, over and over again, and rewarded it 
with lettuce, apple and hemp seed. The little 
flute and the little bird helped Albert and his 
mother to while away many an hour. 

As the months rolled along, the sorrows of the 
Countess still lay heavily on her heart. Many a 
night she spent in tears and sleeplessness, and 
many a day was sad and dreary. She tried very 
hard to cloak her woe, and hide it from her son. 
In her unselfishness, she choked back her tears 
and grief, filled each day with work, and gave 
strict attention to her son’s comfort, instruction 
and diversions. She always had a pleasant word 
and smile for the old shepherd and his wife, whose 
life, though lonely, was spent in the satisfaction 
of right living and lending a helping hand. The 
joy that comes from doing one’s best is the only 
lasting joy, for every other pleasure fades and 
passes away. 

Countess Berlow tried in every way to get news 
of the Count, but she had not been very success- 
ful, although some news was printed in the daily 
papers. The thoughtful old clergyman sent her 
a copy of the news, once each week, as he did not 
receive it any oftener. 

One night Albert returned carrying the paper, 
and said: “The good clergyman did not have 
time to read it through, but he noticed from the 
head lines, that the paper contains much good 
11 


news. 


214 


FKOM PALACE TO HUT 


The Countess took it and read anxiously. 
Finding the news somewhat encouraging, she 
built hopes that soon she might return to her 
much loved home; but, alas, in the very last col- 
umn of the paper, she read that many noblemen 
were to be sentenced to death for their loyalty 
to the king. In the list, she found the name of her 
worthy husband, Count Berlow. She reeled as 
if struck by a thunder-bolt, the paper fell from 
her hands and she sank in a swoon. 

A few minutes passed before the good shep- 
herdess came in response to Albert’s cry, and 
brought the Countess back to consciousness. She 
had to be carried to her bed, and it seemed as if 
she would never recover. Poor Albert, who 
rarely left her bedside for a moment, began to 
fail and fade day by day. 

The old shepherd often said, shaking his head 
at the same time: “The coming fall will surely 
scatter its leaves upon the grave of the Countess, 
and her poor son will doubtless never see the 
spring. ’ 9 


CHAPTER III 

THE PRISON 

The faithful old Richard had waited on that 
memorable day of the flight for the return of his 
brother John, the fisherman. He was elated when 
he heard of the safety of the Countess. Richard’s 
greatest trouble now was how to save his master, 
the good Count Berlow. He considered it very 
unjust and cruel that an honest and right-living 
citizen should be sentenced to death for loyalty 
to his king. 

On the following morning, Richard hurried to 
the city where his son, Robert, served in the Na- 
tional Guard. With help he hoped to gain a 
meeting with this good-natured, intelligent boy, 
who from time to time acted as sentinel before 
the prison. He would try to secure his son’s aid 
in releasing the Count, so unjustly imprisoned. 
At last the opportunity presented itself, and 
father and son had a hasty talk over the situation. 
Robert found no chance, however, and gave up 
hope of saving the Count. 

At last the day arrived when the Count’s sen- 
tence was to be carried out. Sleepless and sad, 
with his head resting on his hands, the Count sat 
in his lonely cell. The warden had not considered 
215 


216 


FROM PALACE TO HUT 


it worth while to bring him a light, and heavy 
darkness enveloped him. He thought of his wife 
and his children. Not for himself did he suffer 
so much, but for those who were so dear to him. 
He knew not where they were, and he was greatly 
troubled about their condition. 

While the noble Count sat lost in these thoughts, 
a loud shouting arose in the corridors. Soldiers 
ran here and there, crying : ‘ ‘ Save yourselves, if 
you can. Fire! Fire!” This reached the Count’s 
ears. All at once the door of his cell was thrown 
wide open. Thick volumes of smoke and dust 
poured in and dreadful flashes of light illumined 
his dark cell. A young soldier stood before him, 
and cried : ‘ ‘ Save yourself ! ’ 9 

Through the carelessness of a drunken servant, 
a fire had started in the building. The soldiers 
had torn off their coats and weapons and had 
hurried to put it out. Robert had seized the first 
opportunity that afforded itself, had taken the 
clothing and weapons of a soldier, and had hast- 
ened to the Count with them, saying to himself : 
“The only chance to save him is to dress him as 
a soldier.” 

“Hurry, put on these clothes,” said Robert. 
He helped the Count pull on the coat, placed the 
hat on his head, buckled on his knapsack, and gave 
him a musket. The Count’s face had not been 
shaved during his imprisonment, so that this gave 


THE PRISON 217 

him the wild appearance which all soldiers had 
at that time. 

“Now,” said Robert, “hasten down the steps 
and out of the front door. With this outfit, I 
trust you will easily get through the crowd un- 
noticed. Then go directly to J ohn, the fisherman, 
and there you will meet my father.” 

Count Berlow knew exactly how to act his part. 
Earnestly, as if he had some urgent business to 
transact, he hurried down the steps and shouted 
in haughty tones to the men who were carrying 
buckets, “Aside, aside!” At last he reached the 
street without being detected. With quick strides 
and fast-beating heart, he made his way to the 
city gate and continued on, as Robert had taken 
care to give him the pass-word. 

At midnight, he reached the fisherman’s hut. 
He knocked at the window. The fisherman 
came to the door, but stepped back frightened 
at seeing a soldier who might wish to arrest 
him or his brother. He based his fears on the 
fact that they had both made many enemies on 
account of their fidelity to the Berlow family. 
When John recognized the Count, he raised his 
hands and exclaimed, “Oh, it’s you, Count Ber- 
low; how happy I am to be able to help you!” 
Richard, who had waited and watched there for 
the last ten nights, rushed into the room and 
shouted: “Oh, my master!” and both embraced 
and wept. 


218 


FROM PALACE TO HUT 


The first question which the Count asked was 
for his wife and children. Richard quickly relat- 
ed the details of their flight and the illness of 
Marguerite, who had now recovered and was 
sleeping in the adjoining room. The noise, how- 
ever, had awakened her, and recognizing her 
father’s voice, she rushed into the room. With 
great joy she hurried into his outstretched arms. 
He kissed her rosy cheeks and looked at her long 
and tenderly. 

The Count decided to continue his flight that 
very night from the land which once had been to 
him a paradise but was now only a murderers’ 
den. On the same boat that had safely carried his 
wife and son, he now took passage. The old fish- 
erman led the way and Richard followed last. 
The night was clear and the heavens bright with 
stars. Suddenly they heard sounds of shooting, 
and voices shouting : 4 4 Halt ! Halt ! — Halt, halt ! 
— You are deserters!” 

It so happened that when the fire in the prison 
had been extinguished, the soldiers had carefully 
searched each cell, to find if anyone had escaped. 
To their great astonishment, they found the cell 
of Count Berlow empty. The soldier who had lost 
his uniform cried loudly with rage: “He has 
flown with my clothing and my weapons. Up and 
follow him!” The pursuers soon found a clue to 
the Count’s route. 

The poor Count and Richard were almost stupe- 



“On the same boat that had safely carried his wife and son 

he now took passage.” 


220 


FROM PALACE TO HUT 


fied when they heard the distant shouting, but 
they seized the oars all the more firmly and rowed 
with every muscle strained to the utmost. Soon 
the soldiers reached the shore and began to fire 
upon the occupants of the boat. Marguerite crept 
under the seat, while the men tried to dodge the 
bullets. One bullet pierced the Count’s hat, two 
pierced Richard’s oar. The little boat, which was 
scarcely an inch above the water, rocked and 
rolled and almost capsized, but the occupants es- 
caped without injury and finally reached the oppo- 
site shore in safety. 

Count Berlow was thankful for his escape, and 
so were Richard and Marguerite. They seated 
themselves on an overturned tree trunk, to re- 
cover a little strength. When they had rested a 
little, the Count quickly threw off his uniform and 
donned some old clothes belonging to Richard. 
With a staff in his hand and a bundle on his back, 
Richard now led the way, while the Count and 
Marguerite followed. In order to allay all sus- 
picion, Richard took a roundabout course through 
the thickly- wooded country. 


CHAPTER IV 

THE PURCHASE 

Count Berlow’s greatest desire was to see his 
wife and son. “I shall not have a restful mo- 
ment,” said he to Richard, “ until I shall have 
found them. You tell me they are safe in a shep- 
herd’s lowly hut, but how shall we reach them? 
My daughter cannot go on foot, and I have not 
the means to ride there.” 

Then Richard drew out of his bundle a bag of 
gold. “You are not as poor as you think, my 
noble master,” said he. “This money is all 
yours.” Count Berlow stared first at the gold 
and then at his faithful servant. 

“You see,” said Richard, “while you were rich, 
you paid me well and presented me with large 
gifts of money. Many people, too, were gener- 
ously aided by you. During the time you were 
imprisoned, I set out to gather in as much money 
from these people as I could possibly move them 
to give you. ’Tis true we often find people who 
never feel grateful for any good they receive, but 
I must confess that these grateful souls not only 
returned all you ever gave them, but out of love 
and deep thankfulness added much more there- 
to.” 


221 


222 


FROM PALACE TO HUT 


Count Berlow counted the money. “It is a 
very, very large amount, ’ ’ said he, and raised his 
eyes in thanks to heaven. “But how long can 
even this last us?” 

“We will economize,” said Richard, “in every 
possible way, but let me first of all purchase a 
horse and wagon. ’ ’ This was soon accomplished. 
The wagon was provided with a canvas covering, 
which served to shield the occupants from view, 
and also to protect them from the sun and rain. 

They rode for days and days, and the way was 
long and dreary. Owing to the rough handling 
which the Count had received in the prison, the 
terror which his death sentence had caused him, 
the sorrow and fear of his flight, and the weari- 
ness of the journey, he soon became very much 
weakened and was forced to stop at a little village 
and rest for a while. 

Richard hired a few rooms and bought the 
food. As he was well trained in all household 
duties, he took upon himself the care of their 
temporary home. Marguerite helped, as best she 
could, and from morning till night performed 
each task willingly, always wearing a sunny smile. 

Count Berlow was confined to his bed for many 
weeks, and it was a long time before he could sit 
up, even for a little while. Marguerite cared for 
her father, read to him, cheered him, and thus 
made the time pass pleasantly. Her father re- 


THE PURCHASE 


223 


turned his thanks with every evidence of love 
and contentment. 

Marguerite ’s birthday was now at hand. When 
she awoke one morning, she found the window- 
sills filled with potted geraniums, her favorite 
flowers, and a beautiful canary bird hanging 
above them in a pretty golden cage. The bird ex- 
actly resembled the one which she had had at 
home. She thanked her father in the tenderest 
tones for his selection. 

“Take these simple gifts, my child, for at 
present I can give you no more. ,, 

Richard now served dinner and all seemed 
once more to be bright and happy. When the 
meal was ended, the Count drank to the health of 
his daughter and his absent wife and son. “I 
wonder, my child, ’ 9 said he to Marguerite , 4 4 where 
your mother and brother are this day, and how 
they are celebrating your birthday? What has 
befallen them? I always had a happy heart; but 
now I often have many troubled hours. I fear — 
I fear.” 

Marguerite threw her arms about her father’s 
neck and tried to reassure him. “Be comforted, 
dear father,” said she. “We shall be brought 
together again, for surely God cares for us.” 

“Yes, that is true,” he said, and dried his eyes. 

All was silent. It was a deep, solemn, soul- 
stirring moment. 


224 


FROM PALACE TO HUT 


All at once the canary bird began to sing a 
song — the song which father and daughter recog- 
nized at once as the one which the Count had 
composed and taught his children. No one else 
had ever heard it or played it. 

Marguerite clapped her hands and shouted: 
“What can this mean? That is the first piece 
that you taught us, dear father.” All gazed at 
the bird in astonishment. The bird repeated the 
song, twice, thrice. “It is our song. No note is 
missing.” 

“This is truly wonderful,” said the Count. 
1 ‘ Certainly no one could have taught that song to 
the bird but my boy Albert; but how? I do not 
know. Now, Richard, where did you get this 
bird?” 

Richard then related how he had purchased the 
canary on the preceding night from a bird fancier 
in the village. 

“Hasten to the village and possibly he may 
be able to tell you more about the bird.” 

Richard ran to the village, and was gone what 
seemed an interminable time. At last he re- 
turned with the information that the fancier had 
bought the bird from a little boy who lived with 
his mother, many miles beyond, and who had 
trained this little bird to sing and whistle. The 
fancier described the boy and mother so well that 
all were unanimous in their decision that this was 
the boy and mother for whom they were seeking. 


CHAPTER Y 

REUNITED 

Preparations were now made for a hasty de- 
parture, for the Count seemed suddenly stronger. 
Richard packed their belongings and placed them 
in the wagon. The bird was hung from a hook 
fastened in the top of the vehicle. Everything 
was soon in readiness. 

On the following morning they started off. 
The Count and Marguerite were regaled on the 
journey by the sweet song of the canary. It 
cheered them and seemed to make the time pass 
all the more quickly. After a journey of twenty 
miles, they reached the village, at sunset. 

They repaired at once to the clergyman ’s house, 
where they learned that the Countess and Albert 
Berlow lived in the shepherd’s lowly hut, some 
miles distant. “The Countess holds her husband 
as dead,” said the clergyman, “and no joy can 
now penetrate her heart. Her health has failed 
and it seems as if she would not last very long.” 

Count Berlow asked how she could have re- 
ceived such incorrect news. The clergyman then 
brought out a package of newspapers, searched 
for one sheet, and laid it before the Count. He 
read that, on such a day, and at such an hour, 
225 


226 


FROM PALACE TO HUT 


Count Berlow, with twenty others, had been hung. 
‘ ‘ Strange it is,” said the Count, “ either they for- 
got to cross my name from the list, or else they 
did not wish to, in the hope that in that way they 
would not be answerable for my escape.” 

It pained the Count sorely that this false news 
had brought much suffering to the Countess, for 
death seemed almost to have enrolled her, too. 
The clergyman advised them to proceed slowly 
and cautiously, lest the joyful news of the Count’s 
return should be too great a shock to her. 

Intending to follow the good clergyman’s ad- 
vice, they continued their journey. Soon they 
reached the summit of a wooded hill, and from 
the distance they discerned the low hut with its 
flat, thatch-covered roof and smoking chimney. 
Richard then went hurriedly ahead. 

Countess Berlow, dressed in black, sat knitting 
at the fireside, the light of which illuminated the 
room, which had been slowly filling with the 
shadows of the approaching twilight. Albert sat 
at her side, reading from her favorite volume. 
As she saw her faithful servant enter, she uttered 
a loud cry and her work fell from her hands. She 
hastened toward him, and with a thousand ex- 
clamations of joy and pain, she greeted him 
heartily, as if he were her dear father. Albert, 
too, was deeply affected. 

Countess Berlow then pointed to a chair which 
Albert had drawn close to the fire, and said: 4 4 My 


REUNITED 


227 


good, true friend, be seated. So we see each otkei 
again. Over the death of my dear husband let 
us draw a veil. The memory of it is too painful 
for me. But tell me, how is my daughter? Did 
she die, as the doctor said she might ? ’ ’ 

Richard then explained that the doctor had 
diagnosed the case as more serious than it really 
was, in order at that time to hurry the mother’s 
flight ; and that Marguerite had very shortly after 
recovered and had remained well ever since. The 
Countess was greatly pleased with this report, 
and her eyes gleamed with joy. 

“But,” said she earnestly, and with a clouded 
brow, “why did you not bring her with you? 
Why did you not tear her from the unhappy 
fatherland where no hour of her life could be 
safe? How could you leave without her — you 
hard, cruel man? Why did you not — ” she could 
say no more, for the door opened, and Marguerite 
rushed to her mother and embraced and kissed 
her as if nothing could ever again tear them 
asunder. Albert joined them and gladder tears 
were never shed than those which the Countess 
wept in her exceeding happiness. 

Alas, the joy soon melted into yearning. “Oh, 
that my dear, true husband still lived,” said the 
Countess, as she looked to heaven, “for then my 
measure of joy would be full. Now, my dear 
children, you are poor and fatherless. The sight 
of you fills the heart of your oppressed mother 


228 


FROM PALACE TO HUT 


with pain. For what can I, a poor, lonely widow, 
do for you?” 

Then Richard interrupted the conversation 
with the glad news of the Count’s rescue. The 
Countess proved herself more self-controlled 
than Richard had anticipated, for the great joy 
of having seen her true servant, the greater joy 
of again clasping her daughter in her arms was 
for this woman the preparation for the greatest 
of joys — the joy of again seeing the husband 
whom she had mourned as dead. 

The Count had long stood, with palpitating 
heart, waiting before the door of the hut, where 
each word had fallen distinctly on his ear. 

Richard’s last words had scarcely been uttered 
when the Countess cried: “He lives; he has been 
saved from the hands of his oppressors.” The 
Count then opened the door, and overcome with 
emotion, fell at the feet of the Countess. 

Timid and fearful, as if she half doubted that 
he really lived, she gazed at him long and steadily 
as the light of the fire irradiated his face. She 
could scarcely express her rapture. Then after 
a long pause she said: “Oh, the joy of again 
seeing my loved ones for whom I have wept so 
long!” 

Father and mother, son and daughter, and 
faithful servant spent a peaceful, joyous evening 
in the little, lowly hut. The old shepherd and his 


REUNITED 


229 


good wife shared in the contentment which filled 
their little home to overflowing. 

On the following morning, there was brought 
into this lowly hut another guest who had ren- 
dered such helpful service in the speedy reunit- 
ing of the separated family — the little canary 
bird. 

Albert was delighted to see his bird again, for 
during his mother’s illness he had found it im- 
possible to care properly for it, and had reluc- 
tantly disposed of it at the fancier’s in a distant 
village. 

Count Berlow then related at length the cir- 
cumstances which had brought the bird into his 
possession and how it had helped to give him the 
needed hope and strength to continue the journey 
which had ended so successfully in their reunion. 

Albert joined in the conversation, and said, 
‘ 4 Wasn’t it a happy thought to teach the bird 
that particular song, when I knew so many songs? 
But then, you see, it was the song nearest and 
dearest to my heart. It was my father’s song. 
Little did I think, when I had to part with my pet, 
that it would be taken from me only to restore 
my father and sister to me.” 

“So we see,” said the Count, “how through 
a little trial we may find a great joy. I trust that 
through our losses we all have gained in humility 
and sympathy, which have a lasting worth; and 


230 


FROM PALACE TO HUT 


perhaps God will return to us our past fortune, 
just as he has returned your canary to you. ’ ’ 

Count Berlow was obliged to spend the winter 
under the roof of this lowly hut, and Richard was 
housed in a neighboring one. 

The canary bird was hung in the same place it 
had graced before it was sold to the fancier. 
Marguerite cared for it daily and never neglected 
to give it proper food and water. 

Often, when the family was gathered together 
around the friendly fireside, on a cold winter’s 
evening, the bird would begin to sing the song 
so acceptable to them. The children and the par- 
ents would join in the chorus, and they found 
therein comfort and hope. 

The noble family was forced to live for some 
time in these same narrow quarters; but at last 
they were permitted to return to their fatherland, 
where they again came into possession of their 
property. The Count and Countess rejoiced in 
being wealthy once more, for now they could re- 
turn in measure full and overflowing, the good- 
ness and kindness of the friends who had proven 
themselves in the hour of need. 

The good, faithful Richard, with his kind wife 
and their clever, honest son; John, the brave old 
fisherman; and the helpful shepherd and shep- 
herdess, together with the devout clergyman, 
were among the first to receive this reward — the 
expression of gratitude and love from a family of 
loyal members. 


THE UGLY TRINKET 


CHAPTERS. 

I. The Open Door. 
II. The Test. 


III. Reverses. 



“Nursed her foster-mother with the tenderest care/’ 




THE UGLY TRINKET 

CHAPTER I 

THE OPEN DOOR 

Respected and beloved by all her neighbors, 
Mrs. Linden, a rich widow, lived a solitary life in 
her grand, old castle. 

One day some urgent business called her to the 
city of Antwerp. Here she was detained longer 
than she had expected, and during her stay she 
visited the principal points of interest, among 
them an old cathedral, famed far and wide for its 
beauty. 

With deep reverence, she entered this time- 
honored house of worship. Its high, vaulted roof, 
its long rows of stately columns, its beautifully 
painted windows, the altar in the distance, and 
the twilight and the stillness of the holy place 
filled her with admiration and awe. In her heart 
arose a feeling of the nearness of God, and she 
knelt and prayed. 

Then she passed slowly on, stopping often to 
study the wonderful paintings by the old masters, 
and the inscriptions upon tablets placed on the 
walls in memory of notable men and women long 
since passed away. 


233 


234 


THE UGLY TRINKET 


Suddenly she stopped and read a tablet. It 
had been placed there in honor of a pious woman 
who had suffered much in her life, but had always 
striven to do good ; and these words were written 
there: “She rests from her cares, and her good 
deeds live after her. ’ ’ 

Mrs. Linden then and there resolved that as 
long as she lived she would bear all her troubles 
and trials patiently, and do good to all, so far as 
lay within her power. 

As she neared the altar of this grand cathedral, 
she noticed a little girl eight years of age, clad 
in black, who was kneeling there and praying 
fervently. Her eyes were riveted on her hands, 
tightly clasped before her, so she noticed nothing 
of Mrs. Linden’s presence. Tears were rolling 
down her cheeks and her face had a look of sor- 
row and reverence. 

Mrs. Linden was at once moved to pity. She 
did not wish to disturb her, but as the child arose, 
she said softly: “You seem sad, my little one! 
Why do you cry?” 

“I lost my father a year ago, and a few days 
ago they buried my mother,” said the child, as 
the tears rolled the faster. 

“And for what did you pray so earnestly?” 
asked Mrs. Linden. 

“I asked for help. ’Tis true I have some rela- 
tives in the city, and I would like one of them 
to take me. The clergyman says that it is their 


THE OPEN DOOR 


235 


duty, but they do not want the trouble. I can’t 
blame them, for they have children enough of 
their own.” 

“Poor child,” said Mrs. Linden, “no wonder 
you feel sad.” 

‘ 1 Truly, I was much sadder when I entered this 
cathedral,” said the girl, “but all at once I feel 
much better.” 

These words pressed on Mrs. Linden’s heart 
and she said, in a motherly way, “I think that 
God has answered your prayer. Come with me.” 

‘ 4 But where ? For I must return to my house. ’ ’ 

1 ‘ Let us go to the clergyman. I know him well, 
and I will ask his advice,” continued Mrs. Linden. 
Then she offered her hand to the child, and led 
the way. 

The aged clergyman arose with astonishment 
from his chair, as he saw the woman enter with 
this child. 

Mrs. Linden explained to him how and where 
she had met the little one, at the same time ask- 
ing the girl to step aside while she engaged the 
old man in quiet conversation. 

“I have decided to adopt this little girl and be 
a mother to her. My own dear children died 
when they were infants and my heart tells me 
that I could give the love that I had for my own 
to this little orphan; but I would like you to ad- 
vise me further. Do you think that my care 
would be given in vain?” 


236 


THE UGLY TRINKET 


“No,” said the clergyman, “a greater deed of 
charity you could not do; nor could you easily 
find such a good, well-mannered child. Her par- 
ents were right-living people, and they gave this, 
their only daughter, a good training. Never will 
I forget her mother’s last words : ‘ Father, I know 
that Thou wilt care for my little one, and send 
her another mother.’ Her words are now being 
fulfilled. You have been sent to do this.” 

The old clergyman then called the little girl 
into the room, and said: “Amy, this good, kind 
woman wishes to be your mother. Do you want 
to go with her and he a good daughter to her?” 

“Yes, yes,” said Amy, and cried for joy. 

“That is right,” said the clergyman. “Be to 
this gracious woman, the new mother whom God 
has sent to you, as good and obedient a child as 
you were to your own mother. Remember that 
trouble and sorrow may come into your life, as 
they must come into every life; but if you pray 
with the same trust in God as you prayed to-day, 
help will surely be sent in the same way.” 

Her relatives were then summoned and ac- 
quainted with the fact, and not one of them ob- 
jected; instead, they were very much pleased. 

When Mrs. Linden said that she would take the 
child just as she stood there, and that they could 
have all of her clothing for their own children, 
they were more than delighted. 

But Amy begged to keep just a few books which 


THE OPEN DOOR 


237 


her mother had given her, and which she cher- 
ished ; and this wish was granted. 

On the next morning, Mrs. Linden and Amy 
started for the castle home. The servant, who 
had expected them, had everything in readiness. 
After the evening meal had been served, Mrs. 
Linden showed Amy to her room. 

♦Amy was charmed with her home and her new 
mother. With tears of thanks she prayed, and 
soon was fast asleep. When she awoke, she found 
the sun streaming into the room. She walked to 
the window and gazed out into the lovely, sunny 
grounds and wooded walks surrounding the 
castle. In the distance, she could see the spire 
of the grand cathedral. 

After a few days, Mrs. Linden sent Amy to 
school. When she returned each afternoon, she 
helped in the garden and in the kitchen as much 
as her years would permit; for Mrs. Linden 
wished to train her to a useful, industrious life. 
Often, when the opportunity offered, she taught 
her to sew and knit and care for the house, some- 
thing she thought that every girl should learn. 
Under the guidance of such a kind, loving woman, 
Amy grew to girlhood, simple and modest. 


CHAPTER II 

THE TEST 

Ten years passed by, filled witth joy and hap- 
piness. Then suddenly Mrs. Linden became dan- 
gerously ill. 

Amy nursed her foster-mother with the tender- 
est care and bestowed as much love upon her as 
if she were her own mother. She entered the 
sick room noiselessly ; spoke in soft, gentle tones ; 
opened and closed the doors without the least 
sound, so that Mrs. Linden preferred to have 
Amy rather than a nurse. 

Often Amy would sit in the darkened room and 
watch over her charge during the long, weary 
hours of the night. Days and weeks passed, and 
the invalid grew no better; still Amy nursed her 
with the same untiring patience and care. 

Mrs. Linden was very thankful that she had 
taken Amy into her home and heart, and realized 
it more and more each day, and said : 4 4 My dear 
Amy, you do so much for me. A daughter could 
do no more. God will reward you. I, too, will 
not forget you; and you shall see that I am not 
ungrateful. ’ ’ 

Amy bade her speak no more about it. 

Mrs. Linden said no more on the subject. After 
238 


THE TEST 


239 


a lingering illness, she became very weak, and 
at last passed away. 

Amy cried as bitterly at this loss as she had 
done at the loss of her own mother. 

In the course of the week, many of Mrs. Lin- 
den’s rich relatives were summoned to the house, 
where her will was to be read. The lawyer un- 
folded the document, and Amy was greatly sur- 
prised to learn that her foster-mother had be- 
queathed to her five thousand dollars, together 
the instructions to choose from her treasures the 
costliest, as a remembrance. 

The rich relatives were not pleased with this 
bequest, nor did they wish Amy to take any of 
the rings, pearls or jewels. Amy had never been 
covetous; and when she was told to select, she 
said: “It is not at all necessary for me to have 
a valuable remembrance. The smallest piece will 
suffice. Knowing that it comes from such a good 
woman, it will have great value in my eyes. It 
is more than enough that she has bequeathed to 
me such a large sum of money which I have not 
earned. Therefore, I choose the old, tarnished, 
clumsy locket which she held in her hand and wet 
with her tears as she bade me good-bye. This 
will be the most precious treasure for me, and I 
know her blessing will go with it.” 

One of the onlookers laughed and said to Amy : 
“What a silly girl. Why didn’t you take the dia- 
mond ring? That ugly old locket, what good is 


240 


THE UGLY TRINKET 


that? How ridiculous for you to choose such a 
worthless thing !” 

But Amy was more than satisfied and perfectly 
contented ; while the rich relatives quarreled over 
the distribution of the other trinkets and had 
more disappointment out of it than pleasure. 

The relative to whom the castle had been be- 
queathed gave orders to Amy to find a new home. 
This she had in a measure expected, of course, 
but she did not know just where to go. At last 
the old gardener and his good, kind wife offered 
to share their home with her. She thanked them 
heartily and gladly accepted. 

Amy now invested her money in a business 
house in the city, and although her income was 
not large, still she had enough for her simple 
wants. 

One year went by in quietude and peace, in the 
simple surroundings of the old gardener’s home. 
But as the new occupants of the castle no longer 
wished the services of a man as old as he was, he 
received orders to leave. This meant to give up 
his life-long work and the home which had become 
so dear to him. 

“Be comforted,” said Amy, “for I will collect 
my money and buy a little house near the city. 
Then I will take in some sewing, and we can all 
three still live together contentedly. ’ 9 They soon 
found a house which suited them exactly. 

As Amy had not been able to get her money 


THE TEST 


241 


from the merchant, they were obliged, for the 
time being, to borrow it from another man, to 
whom she promised payment when her money fell 
due. 

The house was bought and renovated to suit, 
them. It was small and simple, but ample for 
their wants. Amy kept the home bright and com- 
fortable ; flowers graced the windows, and the old 
people basked in the sunshine of her smiles and 
helpfulness. 

Although they could see the castle in the dis- 
tance, where they had spent so many years of 
their lives, and from which they had all three 
been so rudely cast, they never longed to return; 
for their little home was filled with happiness and 
contentment. As joy and sorrow, however, must 
change places with each other now and then here 
upon earth, so this little household was called 
upon to meet an unwelcome friend, “ Trouble .’ 9 


CHAPTER III 

REVERSES 

One morning, after almost a year’s sojourn in 
the little home, the news was brought that the 
large business house in the city where Amy had 
invested her money had failed, and that the whole 
amount was lost to her. The time was almost due 
to pay the debt on the house. Where would the 
money come from, now that they could no longer 
give security? 

Sad, troubled days had dawned for them. 

On the eve of the day when the payment on the 
house was due, Amy went up to the attic, where 
she could be alone and cry out her grief, and pray. 

In her anxiety and nervousness, she clutched 
the old, ugly locket that hung from a chain — the 
little reminder of the time of her joys, her sor- 
rows, her patience, her trust and her gratitude, 
while she lived with her good foster-mother. 

In one moment of intense feeling, she pressed 
the locket tightly in an agony of grief. Lo! as 
she unfolded her hand in utter helplessness, the 
locket fell apart. Into her lap rolled one little 
stone after another. When she took them up to 
look at them, she discovered that each stone was 
a diamond, seemingly of great worth. 

242 


REVERSES 


243 


She raised her thankful eyes to heaven and 
poured out her grateful heart. She paused, then 
gathering her treasure in her hands, she hastened 
with joyous steps to acquaint her two companions 
of her wonderful discovery. 

The good, old people were overcome with joy, 
and thanked God, again and again. Then the old 
man said: “With the money that these jewels 
will bring you, you can pay for the house and 
still have enough left to keep you comfortably. ,, 

Early the next morning, Amy hurried to the 
clergyman, her very best friend, to show him the 
jewels and tell him how accidentally she had 
found them. 

“May I,” said she, “keep these costly jewels 
or must I return them to Mrs. Linden’s heirs? 
I think they are the most valuable of all the 
trinkets that she left.” 

“No,” said he, “the jewels belong to you. Mrs. 
Linden intended them for you, I am sure, when 
she gave you the right to choose first, and take 
the best. When you selected the least attractive 
trinket, you unknowingly chose a treasure which 
to you was only valuable because worn by the one 
whom you hold dearest. God sent you this secret 
treasure ; and it is worth many thousand dollars, 
at least. Take it, sell it, and enjoy the benefits 
which you derive therefrom. But always keep 
the locket, as a memento of Mrs. Linden and her 
great benevolence.” 






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